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Louis Tracy Productions, Inc. 


( 


THE 

SILENT BARRIER 


BY 

LOUIS TRACY 

AUTHOR OF 

WINGS OF THE MORNING, Etc. 


ILLUSTRATED WITH SCENES 
FROM THE PHOTOPLAYIPRODUCED BY 
LOUIS TRACY PRODUCTIONS, Inc. 


Page decorations by A. W. Parsons from 
'photographs by The Engadine Press 



NEW YORK 

GROSSET & DUNLAP 

PUBLISHERS 




Copyright, 1908, 1911, e j 
EDWARD 0. C'ijODjij 

Entered at Stationers’ Hail 



/ 




Ich muss — Das ist die Schrank, in welcher mich die Welt 
Von einer, die Natur von andrer Seite halt. 

Fr. Ruckert: Die Weisheit des Brahmenen. 


[I must — That is the Barrier within which I am pent by 
the World on the one hand and Nature on the other.] 


I 

I 


CONTENTS 


CHAPTER PAGE 

I. The Wish ..... 1 

II. The Fulfillment of the Wish . 19 

III. Wherein Two People Become Bet- 

ter Acquainted . . . .41 

IV. How Helen Came to Maloja . 64 

V. An Interlude . . . . . 84 

VI. The Battlefield . . . .108 

VH. Some Skirmishing «... 122 
VHI. Shadows ...... 144 

IX. ‘‘Etta’s Father” . . . .167 

X. On the Glacier .... 189 

XI. Wherein Helen Lives a Crowded 

Hour 212 

XH. The Allies 232 

XHI. The Compact ..... 253 

XIV. Wherein Millicent Arms for the 

Fray 275 

XV. A Coward’s Victory . . . 298 

XVI. Spencer Explains .... 321 
XVII. The Settlement .... 337 








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THE SILENT BARRIER 

CHAPTER I 

THE WISH 


“ yf AIL in?” 

I y I “Yes, sir; just arrived. What 
name? ” 

“ Charles K. Spencer.” 

The letter clerk seized a batch of correspond- 
ence and sorted it with nimble fingers. The 
form of the question told him that Spencer was 
interested in letters stamped for the greater part 
with bland presentments of bygone Presidents of 
the United States. In any event, he would have 
known, by long experience of the type, that the 
well dressed, straight limbed, strong faced young 
man on the other side of the counter was an 
American. He withdrew four missives from the bun- 
1 


THE SILENT BARRIER 


die. His quick eyes saw that three bore the Denver 
postmark, and the fourth hailed from Leadville. 

‘‘ That is all at present, sir,” he said. “ Would 
you like your mail sent to your room in future, 
or shall I keep it here.? ” 

“ Right here, please, in No. 20 slot. I could 
receive a reply by cable while I was going and 
coming along my corridor.” 

The clerk smiled deferentially. He appreciated 
not only the length of the corridor, but the price 
paid by the tenant of a second floor suite over- 
looking the river. 

“ Very well, sir,” he said, glancing again at 
Spencer, “ I will attend to it ; ” and he took a 
mental portrait of the man who could afford to 
hire apartments that ranked among the most 
expensive in the hotel. Obviously, the American 
was a recent arrival. His suite had been vacated 
by a Frankfort banker only three days earlier, 
and this was the first time he had asked for 
letters. Even the disillusioned official was amused 
by the difference between the two latest occupants 
of No. 20, — ^Herr Bamberger, a tub of a man, 
bald headed and bespectacled, and this alert, sinewy 
youngster, with the cleancut features of a Greek 
statue, and the brilliant, deep set, earnest eyes of 
one to whom thought and action were alike familiar. 

Spencer, fully aware that he was posing for a 
necessary picture, examined the dates on his letters, 
nipped the end off a green cigar, helped himself 
2 


THE WISH 


to a match from a box tendered by a watchful 
boy, crossed the entrance hall, and descended a 
few steps leading to the inner foyer and restaurant. 
At the foot of the stairs he looked about for a 
quiet corner. The luncheon hour was almost ended. 
Groups of smokers and coffee drinkers were scat- 
tered throughout the larger room, which widened 
out below a second short flight of carpeted steps. 
The smaller anteroom in which he stood was empty, 
save for a few people passing that way from the 
restaurant, and he decided that a nook near a palm 
shaded balcony offered the retreat he sought. 

He little dreamed that he was choosing the 
starting point of the most thrilling adventure in 
a life already adventurous; that the soft carpet 
of the Embankment Hotel might waft him to 
scenes not within the common scope. That is ever 
the way of true romance. Your knight errant may 
wander in the forest for a day or a year, — ^he 
never knows the moment when the enchanted glade 
shall open before his eyes; nay, he scarce has seen 
the weeping maiden bound to a tree ere he is called 
in to couch his lance and ride a-tilt at the fire breath- 
ing dragon. It was so when men and maids dwelt in 
a young world; it is so now; and it will be so till 
the crack of doom. Manners may change, and cos- 
tume; but hearts filled with the wine of life are not 
to be altered. They are fashioned that way, and the 
world does not varj^ else Eve might regain Paradise, 
and all the fret and fume have an end. 

3 


THE SILENT BARRIER 


Charles K. Spencer, then, would certainly have 
been the most astonished, though perhaps the most 
self possessed, man in London had some guardian 
sprite whispered low in his ear what strange hazard 
lay in his choice of a chair. If such whisper were 
vouchsafed to him he paid no heed. Perhaps his 
occupancy of that particular corner was preordained. 
It was inviting, secluded, an upholstered backwash 
in the stream of fashion; so he sat there, nearly 
stunned a waiter by asking for a glass of water, 
and composed himself to read his letters. 

The waiter hesitated. He was a Frencliman, and 
feared he had not heard aright. 

‘‘ What sort of water, sir,” he asked, — “ Vichy, 
St. Galmier, Apollinaris ? ” 

Spencer looked up. He thought the man had gone. 
“ No, none of those,” he said. “ Just plain, un- 
emotional water, — eau naturelle , — straight from the 
pipe, — the microbe laden fluid that runs off London 
tiles most days. I haven’t been outside the hotel 
during the last hour; but if you happen to pass the 
door I guess you’ll see the kind of essence I mean 
dripping off umbrellas. If you don’t keep it in the 
house, try to borrow a policeman’s cape and shoot a 
quart into a decanter.” 

The quelled waiter hurried away and brought a 
carafe. Spencer professed to be so pleased with his 
rare intelligence that he gave him a shilling. Then 
he opened the envelop with the Leadville postmark. 
It contained a draft for 205 pounds, 15 shillings, 
4 


THE WISH 


11 pence, and the accompanying letter from a firm 
of solicitors showed that the remittance of a thou- 
sand dollars was the moiety of the proceeds of a 
clean-up on certain tailings taken over by the pur- 
chasers of the Battle Mountain tunnel. The sum was 
not a large one; but it seemed to give its recipient 
such satisfaction that the movement of chairs on the 
floor of the big room just beneath failed to draw his 
attention from the lawyer’s statement. 

A woman’s languid, well bred voice broke in on 
this apparently pleasant reverie. 

“ Shall we sit here, Helen ? ” 

“ Anywhere you like, dear. It is all the same to 
me. Thanks to you, I am passing an afternoon in 
wonderland. I find my surroundings so novel and 
entertaining that I should still be excited if you were 
to put me in the refrigerator.” 

The eager vivacity of the second speaker — ^the note 
of undiluted and almost childlike glee with which she 
acknowledged that a visit to a luxurious hotel was a 
red letter day in her life — caused the man to glance 
at the two young women who had unconsciously dis- 
turbed him. Evidently, they had just risen from 
luncheon in the restaurant, and meant to dispose 
themselves for a chat. It was equally clear that each 
word they uttered in an ordinary conversational tone 
must be audible to him. They were appropriating 
chairs which would place the plumes of their hats 
within a few inches of his feet. When seated, their 
faces would be hidden from him, save for a possible 
5 


THE SILENT BARRIER 


glimpse of a profile as one or other turned toward her 
companion. But for a few seconds he had a good 
view of both, and he was young enough to find the 
scrutiny to his liking. 

At the first glance, the girl who was acting as 
hostess might be deemed the more attractive of the 
pair. She was tall, slender, charmingly dressed, and 
carried herself with an assured elegance that hinted 
of the stage. Spencer caught a glint of com flower 
blue eyes beneath long lashes, and a woman would 
have deduced from their color the correct explanation 
of a blue sunshade, a blue straw hat, and a light cape 
of Myosotis blue silk that fell from shapely shoulders 
over a white lace gown. 

The other girl, — she who answered to the name of 
Helen, — though nearly as tall and quite as graceful, 
was robed so simply in muslin that she might have 
provided an intentional contrast. In the man’s es- 
teem she lost nothing thereby. He appraised her by 
the fine contour of her oval face, the wealth of glossy 
brown hair that clustered under her hat, and the 
gleam of white teeth between lips of healthy redness. 
Again, had he looked through a woman’s eyes, he 
would have seen how the difference between Bond-st. j 
and Kilburn as shopping centers might be sharply 
accentuated. But that distinction did not trouble 
him. Beneath a cold exterior he had an artist’s 
soul, and “ Helen ” met an ideal. 

“ Pretty as a peach! ” he said to himself, and he 
continued to gaze at her. Indeed, for an instant he 
6 


THE WISH 


forgot himself, and it was not until she spoke again 
that he realized how utterly oblivious were both girls 
of his nearness. 

“ I suppose everybody who comes here is very 
rich,” was her rather awe-stricken comment. 

Her companion laughed. “ How nice of you to 
put it that way ! It makes me feel quite important. 
I lunch or dine or sup here often, and the direct 
inference is that I am rolling in wealth.” 

“ Well, dear, you earn a great deal of money ” 

“ I get twenty pounds a week, and this frock I am 
wearing cost twenty-five. Really, Helen, you are the 
sweetest little goose I ever met. You live in London, 
but are not of it. You haven’t grasped the first 
principle of social existence. If I dressed within my 
means, and never spent a sovereign until it was in 
my purse, I should not even earn the sovereign. I 
simply must mix with this crowd whether I can 
afford it or not.” 

‘‘ But surely you are paid for your art, not as a 
mannikin. You are almost in the front rank of 
musical comedy. I have seen you occasionally at 
the theater, and I thought you were the best dancer 
in the company.” 

“ What about my singing.?* ” 

‘‘ You have a very agreeable and well trained 
voice.” 

“ I’m afraid you are incorrigible. You ought to 
have said that I sang better than I danced, and the 
fib would have pleased me immensely; we women like 

7 


THE SILENT BARRIER 

to hear ourselves praised for accomplishments we 
don’t possess. No, my dear, rule art out of the cast 
and substitute advertisement. Did you notice a 
dowdy creature who was lunching with two men on 
your right? She wore a brown Tussore silk and a 
turban— well, she writes the ‘ Pars About People ’ in 
‘ The Daily Journal.’ I’ll bet you a pair of gloves 
that you will see something like this in to-morrow’s 
paper : ‘ Lord Archie Beaumanoir entertained a party 
of friends at the Embankment Hotel yesterday. At 
the next table Miss Millicent Jaques, of the Welling- 
ton Theater, was lunching with a pretty girl whom 
I did not know. Miss Jaques wore an exquisite,’ etc., 
etc. Fill in full details of my personal appearance, 
and you have the complete paragraph. The public, 
the stupid, addle-headed public, fatten on that sort 
of thing, and it keeps me going far more effectively 
than my feeble attempts to warble a couple of songs 
which you could sing far better if only you made 
up your mind to come on the stage. But there! 
After such unwonted candor I must have a smoke. 
You won’t try a cigarette? Well, don’t look so 
shocked. This isn’t a church, you know.” 

Spencer, who had listened with interest to Miss 
Jaques’s outspoken views, suddenly awoke to the 
fact that he was playing the part of an eavesdropper. 
He had all an American’s chivalrous instincts where 
women were concerned, and his first impulse was to 
betake himself and his letters to his own room. Yet, 
when all was said and done, he was in a hotel; the 


THE WISH 


girls were strangers, and likely to remain so; and 
it was their own affair if they chose to indulge in 
unguarded confidences. So he compromised with his 
scruples by pouring out a glass of water, replacing 
the decanter on its tray with some degree of noise. 
Then he struck an unnecessary match and applied it 
to his cigar before opening the first of the Denver 
letters. 

As his glance was momentarily diverted, he did 
not grasp the essential fact that neither of the pair 
was disturbed by his well meant efforts. Millicent 
Jaques was lighting a cigarette, and this, to a 
woman, is an all absorbing achievement, while her 
friend was so new to her palatial surroundings 
that she had not the least notion of the existence 
of another open floor just above the level of her 
eyes. 

“ I don’t know how in the world you manage to 
exist,” went on the actress, tilting herself back in 
her chair to watch the smoke curling lazily upward. 

What was it you said the other day when we met.?^ 
You are some sort of secretary and amanuensis to a 
scientist.? Does that mean typewriting.? And what 
is the science.? ” 

“ Professor von Eulenberg is a well known man,” 
was the quiet reply. ‘‘ I type his essays and reports, 
it is true ; but I also assist in his classification work,, 
and it is very interesting.” 

“ What does he classify.? ” 

‘‘ Mostly beetles.” 


9 


THE SILENT BARRIER 


“ Oh, how horrid! Do you ever see any? ” 

‘‘ Thousands.” 

“ I should find one enough. If it is a fair question, 
what does your professor pay you? ” 

“ Thirty shillings a week. In his own way he is 
as poor as I am.” 

“ And do you mean to tell me that you can live in 
those nice rooms you took me to, and dress decently 
on that sum? ” 

“ I do, as a matter of fact ; but I have a small 
pension, and I earn a little by writing titbits of 
scientific gossip for ‘ The Firefly.’ Herr von Eulen- 
berg helps. He translates interesting paragraphs 
from the foreign technical papers, and I jot them 
down, and by that means I pick up sufficient to buy 
an extra hat or wrap, and go to a theater or a con- 
cert. But I have to be careful, as my employer is 
absent each summer for two months. He goes abroad 
to hunt new specimens, and of course I am not paid 
then.” 

‘‘ Is he away now ? ” 

“ Yes.” 

And how do you pass your time ? ” 

‘‘ I write a good deal. Some day I hope to get a 
story accepted by one of the magazines; but it is 
so hard for a beginner to find an opening.” 

“ Yet when I offered to give you a start in the 
chorus of the best theater in London, — a thing, mind 
you, that thousands of girls are aching for, — you 
refused.” 


10 


THE WISH 


“ I’m sorry, Millie dear ; but I am not cut out fsor 
the stage. It does not appeal to me.” 

“ Heigho ! Tastes differ. Stick to your beetles, 
then, and marry your professor.” 

Helen laughed, with a fresh joyousness that was 
good to hear. “ Herr von Eulenberg is blessed with 
an exceedingly stout wife and five very healthy chil- 
dren already,” she cried. 

“Then that settles it. You’re mad, quite mad! 
Let us talk of something else. Do you ever have a 
holiday.? Where are you going this year.? I’m off 
to Champery when the theater closes.” 

“ Champery, — in Switzerland, isn’t it .? ” 

“ Yes.” 

“ Ah, that is the dream of my life, — to see the 
everlasting snows ; to climb those grand, solemn 
mountains ; to cross the great passes that one reads 
of in the travel books. Now at last you have made 
me envious. Are you going alone.? But of course 
that is a foolish question. You intend to join others 
from the theater, no doubt.? ” 

“ Well — er — something of the sort. I fear my 
enthusiasm will not carry me far on the lines that 
would appeal to you. I suppose you consider a 
short skirt, strong boots, a Tyrolese hat, and an 
alpenstock to be a sufficient rig-out, whereas my 
mountaineering costumes will fill five large trunks 
and three hat boxes. I’m afraid, Helen, we don’t 
run on the same rails, as our American cousins say.” 

There was a little pause. Millicent’s words, ap- 

11 


THE SILENT BARRIER 


parently tossed liglitlj into the air after a smoke 
spiral, had in them a touch of bitterness, it might 
be of self analysis. Her guest seemed to take 
thought before she answered: 

“ Perhaps the divergence is mainly in environmeht. 
And I have always inclined to the more serious side 

of life. Even when we were together in Brussels ” 

“You? Serious? At Madam - Berard’s ? I like 
that. Who was it that kicked the plaster off the 
dormitory wall higher than her head? Who put 
pepper in Signor Antonio’s snuff box? ” 

Spencer saw the outer waves of a flush on Helen’s 
cheeks. “ This is exceedingly interesting,” he 
thought ; “ but I cannot even persuade myself that 
I ought to listen any longer. Yet, if I rise now and 
walk away they will know I heard every word.” 

Nevertheless, he meant to go, at the risk of their 
embarrassment ; but he waited for Helen’s reply^ 
She laughed, and the ripple of her mirth was as 
musical as her voice, whereas many women dowered 
with pleasantly modulated notes for ordinary con- 
versation should be careful never to indulge in laughs 
ter, which is less controllable and therefore natural. 
That is the worst of having a past,” she said. 
“ Let me put it, then, that entomology as a pursuit 
sternly represses frivolousness.” 

“ Does entomology mean beetles ? ” 

“ My dear, if you asked Herr von Eulenberg that 
question he would sate your curiosity with page ex- 
tracts from one of his books. He has written a whole 


THE WISH 


volume to prove that the only true entoma, or 
insects, are Condylopoda and Hexapoda, which 
means ” 

Cockroaches ! Good g-racious ! To think of 
Helen Wynton, who once hit a Belgian boy very hard 
on the nose for being rude, wasting her life on such 
rubbish! And you actually seem to thrive on it. I 
do believe you are far happier than I.” 

“ At present I am envying you that trip to Cham- 
pery. Why cannot some fairy godmother call in 
at No. 5, Warburton Gardens, to-night and wave 
over my awed head a wand that shall scatter sleeping 
car tickets and banknotes galore, or at any rate suffi- 
cient thereof to take me to the Engadine and back.^ ” 

“ Ah, the Engadine. I am not going there this 
year, I think.” 

“ Haven’t you planned your tour yet.^^ ” 

“ No — that is, not exactly.” 

“ Do you know, that is one of my greatest 
pleasures. With a last year’s Continental Brad- 
shaw and a few tattered Baedekers I journey far 
afield. I know the times, the fares, and the stopping 
places of all the main routes from Calais and 
Boulogne. I could pass a creditable examination in 
most of the boat and train services by way of Ostend, 
Flushing, and the Hook of Holland. I assure you, 
Millie, when my ship does come home, or the glitter- 
ing lady whom I have invoked deigns to visit my 
lodgings, I shall call a cab for Charing Cross or 
Victoria with the assurance of a seasoned traveler.’^ 
13 


THE SILENT BARRIER 


For some reason, Miss Jaques refused to share her 
friend’s enthusiasm. “You are easily pleased,” she 
said listlessly. “ For my part, after one shuddering 
glance at the Channel, I try to deaden all sensation 
till I find myself dressing for dinner at the Ritz. 
I positively refuse to go beyond Paris the first day. 
Ah, bother! Here comes a man whom I wish to 
avoid. Let us be on the move before he sees us, which 
he cannot fail to do. Don’t forget that I have a 
rehearsal at three. I haven’t, really; but we must 
escape somehow.” 

Spencer, who had salved his conscience by en- 
deavoring to read a technical letter on mining affairs, 
would be less than human if he did not lift his eyes 
then. It is odd how the sense of hearing, when left 
to its unfettered play by the absence of the disturb- 
ing influence of facial expression, can discriminate 
in its analysis of the subtler emotions. He was quite 
sure that Miss Jaques was startled, even annoyed, 
by the appearance of some person whom she did not 
expect to meet, and he surveyed the new arrival 
critically, perhaps with latent hostility. 

He saw a corpulent, well dressed man standing at 
the foot of the stairs and looking around the spacious 
room. Obviously, he had not come from the res- 
taurant. He carried his hat, gloves, and stick in his 
left hand. With his right hand he caressed his chin, 
and his glance wandered slowly over the little knots 
of people in the foyer. Beyond the fact that a large 
diamond sparkled on one of his plump fingers, and 
14 


THE WISH 


that his olive tinted face was curiously opposed to 
the whiteness of the uplifted hand, he differed in 
no essential from the hundreds of spick and span 
idlers who might be encountered at that hour in the 
west end of London. He had the physique and bear- 
ing of a man athletic in his youth but now over- 
indulgent. An astute tailor had managed to conceal 
the too rounded curves of the fourth decade by 
fashioning his garments skillfully. His coat fitted 
like a skin across his shoulders but hung loosely in 
front. The braid of a colored waistcoat was a mar- 
vel of suggestion in indicating a waist, and the same 
adept craftsmanship carried the eye in faultless lines 
to his vemi boots. Judged by his profile, he was not 
ill looking. His features were regular, the mouth 
and chin strong, the forehead slightly rounded, and 
the nose gave the merest hint of Semitic origin. 
Taken altogether, he had the style of a polished man 
of the world, and Spencer smiled at the sudden fancy 
that seized him. 

“ I am attending the first act of a little play,” he 
thought. “ Helen and Millicent rise and move to 
center of stage; enter the conventional villain.” 

Miss Jaques was not mistaken when she said that 
her acquaintance would surely see her. She and 
Helen Wynton had not advanced a yard from their 
comer before the newcomer discovered them. He 
hastened to meet them, with the aspect of one equally 
surprised and delighted. His manners were courtly, 
and displayed great friendliness; but Spencer was 
15 


THE SILENT BARRIER 


quick to notice the air of interest with which his 
gaze rested on Helen. It was possible to see now 
that Millicent’s unexpected friend had large, promi- 
nent dark eyes which lent animation and vivacity to 
a face otherwise heavy and coarse. It was impossible 
to hear all that was said, as the trio stood in the 
middle of the room and a couple of men passing up 
the stairs at the moment were talking loudly. But 
Spencer gathered that Millicent was explaining vol- 
ubly how she and Miss Wynton had “ dropped in 
here for luncheon by the merest chance,” and was 
equally emphatic in the declaration that she was 
already overdue at the theater. 

The man said something, and glanced again at 
Helen. Evidently, he asked for an introduction, 
which Miss Jaques gave with an affability that was 
eloquent of her powers as an actress. The unwished 
for cavalier was not to be shaken off. He walked 
with them up the stairs and crossed the entrance 
hall. Spencer, stuffing his letters into a pocket, 
strolled that way too, and saw this pirate in a morn- 
ing coat bear off both girls in a capacious motor car. 

Not to be balked of the denouement of the little 
comedy in real life for which he had provided the 
audience, the American grabbed the hall porter. 

“ Say,” he said, “ do you know that gentleman ” 

‘‘ Yes, sir. That is Mr. Mark Bower.” 

Spencer beamed on the man as though he had just 
discovered that Mr. Mark Bower was his dearest 
friend. 


16 


THE WISH 


‘‘Well, now, if that isn’t the queerest thing!” 
he said. “ Is that Mark.^ He’s just gone round to 
the Wellington Theater, I guess. How far is it from 
here ? ” 

“ Not a hundred yards, sir.” 

Off went Spencer, without his hat. He had in- 
tended to follow in a cab, but a sprint would be 
more effective over such a short distance. He crossed 
the Strand without heed to the traffic, turned to 
the right, and, to use his own phrase, “ butted into 
a policeman ” at the first corner. 

“ I’m on the hunt for the Wellington Theater,” 
he explained. 

“ You needn’t hunt much farther,” said the con- 
stable good humoredly. “ There it is, a little way 
up on the left.” 

At that instant Spencer saw Bower raise his hat 
to the two women. They hurried mside the theater, 
and their escort turned to reenter his motor. The 
American had learned what he wanted to know. Miss 
Jaques had shaken off her presumed admirer, and 
Miss Wynton had aided and abetted her in the deed. 

“You don’t say!” he exclaimed, gazing at the 
building admiringly. “ It looks new. In fact the 
v/hole street has a kind of San Francisco-after-the- 
fire appearance.” 

“ That’s right, sir. It’s not so long since some 
of the worst slums in London were pulled down to 
make way for it.” 

“It’s fine; but I’m rather stuck on antiquities. 

17 


THE SILENT BARRIER 


I’ve seen plenty of last year palaces on the other 
side. Have a drink, will you, when time’s up ? ” 

The policeman glanced surreptitiously at the half- 
crown which Spencer insinuated into his palm, and 
looked after the donor as he went back to the hotel. 

“ Well, I’m jiggered! ” he said to himself. “ I’ve 
often heard tell of the way some Americans see 
London; but I never came across a chap who rushed 
up in his bare head and took a squint at any place 
in that fashion. He seemed to have his wits about 
him too ; but there must be a screw loose somewhere.” 

And indeed Charles K. Spencer, had he paused to 
take stock of his behavior, must have admitted that 
it was, to say the least, erratic. But his imagination 
was fired; his sympathies were all a-quiver with the 
thought that it lay within his power to share with 
a kin soul some small part of the good fortune that 
had fallen to his lot of late. 

“Wants a fairy godmother, does she.?” he asked 
himself, and the quiet humor that gleamed in his face 
caused more than one passerby to turn and watch 
him as he strode along the pavement. “ Well, I guess 
I’ll play a character not hitherto heard of in the 
legitimate drama. What price the fairy godfather? 
I’ve a picture of myself in that role. Oh, my! See 
me twirl that wand! Helen, you shall climb those 
rocks. But I don’t like your friend. I sha’n’t send 
you to Champery. No — Champery’s off the map for 
you.” 


18 



CHAPTER II 


THE EULFIELMENT OF THE WISH 

Explanations of motive are apt to become tedious. 
They are generally inaccurate too; for who can re- 
duce a fantasy to a formula? Nor should they ever 
be allowed to clip the wings of romance. But the 
painter who bade his subject sit under a sodium light 
would justly be deemed a lunatic, and any analysis 
of Spencer’s character drawn from his latest prank 
would be faulty in the extreme. 

In all London at that moment there was not a 
more level headed man of his years. He was twenty- 
eight, an expert mining engineer, and the successful 
pioneer of a new method of hauling ore. Even in 
Western America, ‘‘ God’s own country,” as it is held 
to be by those who live there, few men ‘‘ arrive ” so 
early in life. Some, it is true, amass wealth by lucky 
speculation before they are fitted by experience to 
earn the price of a suit of clothes. But they are of 
19 


THE SILENT BARRIER 


the freak order. They are not to be classed with one 
who by hard work Wrests a fortune out of the grim 
Colorado granite. Spencer had been called on to 
endure long years of rebuff and scorn. Though 
scoffed at by many who thought he was wrong, he 
persisted because he knew he was right. 

Ofttimes Fate will test such a man almost to break- 
ing point. Then she yields, and, being feminine, her 
obduracy is the measure of her favors, for she will 
bestow on her dogged suitor all, and more than all, 
that he desired. 

The draft from Leadville, crammed so carelessly 
into a pocket when he followed the three to the door, 
was a fair instance of this trick of hers. A tunnel, 
projected and constructed in the teeth of ridicule 
and financial opposition, had linked up the under- 
ground workings of several mines, and proved con- 
clusively that it was far cheaper to bring minerals to 
the rail in that manner than to sink expensive shafts, 
raise the ore to the top of a mountain, and cart it to 
its old level in the valley. 

Once the thing was indisputable, the young engi- 
neer found himself rich and famous. To increase 
the feeders of the main bore, he drove another short 
gallery through a mining claim acquired for a few 
dollars, — a claim deemed worthless owing to a geo- 
logical fault that traversed its whole length. That 
was Fate’s opportunity. Doubtless she smiled mis- 
chievously when she gave him a vein of rich quartz 
through which to quarry his way. The mere delving 
SO 


THE FULFILLMENT OF THE WISH 


of the rock had produced two thousand dollars’ worth 
of ore, of which sum he took a moiety by agreement 
with the company that purchased his rights. 

People in Leadville soon discovered that Spencer 
was a bright man, — yes, sir, a citizen of whom the 
chief mining city of the Rocky Mountains has every 
reason to be proud,” — and the railway magnate who 
had nearly ruined him by years of hostility buried 
the past grandiloquently with a mot. 

“ Charles K. Spencer can’t be sidetracked,” he said. 
“ That K isn’t in his name by accident. Look at it, — 
a regular buffer of a letter ! Tell you what, you may 
monkey with Charles; but when you hit the K look 
out for trouble.” 

Whereupon the miners laughed, and said that the 
president was a mighty smart man too, and Spencer, 
who knew he was a thief, but was unwilling to quarrel 
with him for the sake of the company, thought that 
a six months’ vacation in Europe would make for 
peace and general content. 

He had no plans. He was free to wander whither- 
soever chance led him. Arriving in London from 
Plymouth late on a Thursday evening, he took a 
bus-driver’s holiday on Friday. Finding a tunnel 
under the Thames in full progress near the hotel, he 
sought the resident engineer, spoke to him in the 
lingua franca of the craft, and spent several danger- 
ous and enjoyable hours in crawling through all 
manner of uncomfortable passages bored by human 
worms beneath the bed of the river. 


THE SILENT BARRIER 


And this was Saturday, and here he was, at three 
o’clock in the afternoon, turning over in his mind the 
best way of sending on an expensive trip abroad 
a girl who had not the remotest notion of his exists 
ence. It was a whim, and a harmless one, and he 
excused it to his practical mind by the reflection 
that he was entitled to one day of extravagance after 
seven years of hard labor. For his own part, he was 
weary of mountains. He had wrought against one, 
frowning and stubborn as any Alp, and had no,t 
desisted until he reached its very heart with a four 
thousand foot lance. Switzerland was the last place 
in Europe he would visit. He wanted to see old 
cities and dim cathedrals, to lounge in pleasant lands 
where rivers murmured past lush meadows. Though 
an American bom and bred, there was a tradition 
in his home that the Spencers were once people of 
note on the border. When tired of London, he meant 
to go north, and ramble through Liddesdale in search 
of family records. But the business presently on 
hand was to arrange that Swiss excursion for 
‘‘ Helen,” and he set about it with characteristic 
energy. 

In the first instance, he noted her name and address 
on the back of the Leadville envelop. Then he 
sought the manager. 

“ I guess you know Switzerland pretty well,” he 
said, when a polite man was produced by a boy. 

The assumption was well founded. In fact, the 
first really important looking object the manager 
22 


THE FULFILLMENT OF THE WISH 


remembered seeing in this world was the giant 
Matterhorn, because his mother told him that if he 
was a bad boy he would be carried off by the demons 
that dwelt on its summit. 

“What sort of places are Evian-les-Bains and 
Champery? ” went on Spencer. 

“ Evian is a fashionable lakeside town. Champery 
is in the hills behind it. When Evian becomes too 
hot in August, one goes to Champery to cool 
down.” 

“Are they anywhere near the Engadine? ” 

“ Good gracious, no ! They are as different as 
chalk and cheese.” 

“ Is the Engadine the cheese ? Does it take the 
biscuit ” 

The manager laughed. Like all Londoners, he 
regarded every American as a humorist. “ It all de- 
pends,” he said. “ For my part, I think the Upper 
Engadine is far and away the most charming section 
of Switzerland ; but there are ladies of my acquaint- 
ance who would unhesitatingly vote for Evian, and 
for a score of other places where there are prom- 
enades and casinos. Are you thinking of making a 
tour there? ” 

“ There’s no telling where I may bring up when 
I cross the Channel,” said Spencer. “ I have heard 
some talk of the two districts, and it occurred to me 
that you were just the man to give me a few useful 
pointers.” 

“ Well, the average tourist rushes from one valley 

23 


THE SILENT BARRIER 


to another, tramps over a pass each morning, and 
spends the afternoon in a train or on board a lake 
steamer. But if I wanted a real rest, and wished 
at the same time to be in a center from which pleasant 
walks, or stiff climbs for that matter, could be 
obtained, I should go by the Engadine Express to 
St. Moritz, and drive from there to the Maloja- 
Kulm, where there is an excellent hotel and usually 
a number of nice people.” 

“ English.? ” 

“ Yes, English and Americans. They select the 
best as a rule, you know.” 

“ It sounds attractive,” said Spencer. 

“ And it is, believe me. Don’t forget the name, 
Maloja-Kulm. It is twelve miles from everywhere, 
and practically consists of the one big hotel.” 

Spencer procured his hat, gloves, and stick, and 
called a cab. “ Take me to ‘ The Firefly ’ office,” 
he said. 

“ Beg pawdon, sir, but where’s that.? ” asked the 
driver. 

“ It’s up to you to find out.” 

“ Then w’at is it, guv’nor.? I’ve heerd of the 
’Orse an’ ’Ound, the Chicken’s Friend, the Cat, an’ 
the Bee ; but the Firefly leaves me thinkin’. Is it a 
noospaper.? ” 

“ Something of the sort.” 

“All right, sir. Jump in. We’ll soon be on its 
track.” 

The hansom scampered off to Fleet-st. As the 

24 


THE FULFILLMENT OF THE WISH 


result of inquiries Spencer was deposited at the 
entrance to a dingy court, the depths of which, he 
was assured, were illumined by “ The Firefly.” There 
is nothing that so mystifies the citizen of the New 
World as the hole-and-corner aspect of some of the 
business establishments of London. He soon learns, 
however, to differentiate between the spidery dens 
where money is amassed and the soot laden tene- 
ments in which the struggle for existence is keen. 
A comprehensive glance at the exterior of the 
premises occupied by “ The Firefly ” at once ex- 
plained to Spencer why the cabman did not know 
its whereabouts. Three small rooms sufficed for 
its literary and commercial staff, and “ To let ” 
notices stared from several windows in the same 
building. 

“ Appearances are deceptive ever,” murmured he, 
as he scanned the legends on three doors in a narrow 
lobby ; ‘‘ but I think Fm beginning to catch on to 
the limited extent of Miss Helen’s earnings from 
her scientific paragraphs.” 

He knocked at each door; but received no answer. 
Then, having sharp ears, he tried the handle of one 
marked “ Private.” It yielded, and he entered, to be 
accosted angrily by a pallid, elderly, bewhiskered 
man, standing in front of a much littered table. 

“ Confound it, sir ! ” came the growl, “ don’t you 
know it is Saturday afternoon And what do you 
mean by coming in unannounced.^ ” 

“ Guess you’re the editor ? ” said Spencer. 

^5 


THE SILENT BARRIER 


« What if I am? ” 

“I’ve just happened along to have a few quiet 
words with you. If there’s no callers Saturdays, 
why, that’s exactly what I want, and I came right 
in because you didn’t answer my knock.” 

“ I tell you I’m not supposed to be here.” 

“ Then you shouldn’t draw corks while anybody 
is damaging the paint outside.” 

Spencer smiled so agreeably that the editor of 
“ The Firefly ” softened. At first, he had taken his 
visitor for an unpaid contributor; but the American 
accent banished this phantom of the imagination. 
He continued to pour into a tumbler the contents of 
a bottle of beer. 

“ Well,” he said, “ now that you are here, what 
can I do for you, Mr. ” 

“ Spencer — Charles K. Spencer.” 

Instantly it struck the younger man that little 
more than an hour had elapsed since he gave his 
name to the letter clerk in the hotel. The singularity 
of his proceedings during that hour was thereby 
brought home to him. He knew nothing of news- 
papers, daily or weekly; but commonsense suggested 
that “ The Firefly’s ” radiance was not over- 
powering. His native shrewdness advised caution, 
though he felt sure that he could, in homely 
phrase, twist this faded journalist round his 
little finger. 

“ Before I open the ball,” he said, “ may I see a 
copy of your magazine? ” 


26 


THE FULFILLMENT OF THE WISH 


Meanwhile the other was trying to sum him up.‘ 
He came to the conclusion that his visitor meant to 
introduce some new advertising scheme, and, as ‘‘ The 
Firefly ” was sorely in need of advertisements, he 
decided to listen. 

“ Here is last week’s issue,” he said, handing to 
Spencer a small sixteen-page publication. The Amer- 
ican glanced through it rapidly, while the editor 
sampled the beer. 

“ I see,” said Spencer, after he had found a column 
signed “ H. W.,” which consisted of paragraphs 
translated from a German article on airships, — I 
see that ‘ The Firefly ’ scintillates around the Tree 
of Knowledge.” 

The editor relaxed sufficiently to smile. “ That 
is a good description of its weekly flights,” he said. 

“ You don’t use many cuts.f^ ” 

“ N-no. They are expensive and hard to obtain 
for such subjects as we favor.” 

‘‘ Don’t you think it would be a good notion to 
brighten it up a bit — put in something lively, and 
more in keeping with the name.? ” 

“ I have no opening for new matter, if that is what 
you mean,” and the editor stiffened again. 

‘‘ But you have the say-so as to the contents, I 
suppose.? ” 

“ Oh, yes. The selection rests with me.” 

Good. I’m sort of interested in a young lady. 
Miss Helen Wynton by name. She lives in War- 
burton Gardens, and does work for you occasionally. 

27 


THE SILENT BARRIER 


Now, I propose to send her on a month’s trip to 
Switzerland, where she will represent ‘ The Firefly.’ 
You must get her to turn out a couple of pages of 
readable stuff each week, which you will have illus- 
trated by a smart artist at a cost of say, twenty 
pounds an article for drawings and blocks. I pay 
all expenses, she gets the trip, and you secure some 
good copy for nothing. Is it a deal.?^ ” 

The editor sat down suddenly and combed liis 
whiskers with nervous fingers. He was a weak man, 
and a too liberal beer diet was not good for him. 

“ Are you in earnest, Mr. Spencer ” he queried 
in a bewildered way. 

“ Dead in earnest. You write the necessary letter 
to Miss Wynton while I am here, and I hand you 
the first twenty in notes. You are to tell her to call 
Monday noon at any bank you may select, and she 
will be given her tickets and a hundred pounds. 
When I am certain that she has started I undertake 
to pay you a further sum of sixty pounds. I make 
only two conditions. You must guarantee to star 
her work, as it should help her some, and my identity 
must not be disclosed to her under any circumstances. 
In a word, she must regard herself as the accredited 
correspondent of ‘ The Firefly.’ If she appears to 
be a trifle rattled by your generosity in the matter 
of terms, you must try and look as if you did that 
sort of thing occasionally and would like to do it 
often.” 

The editor pushed his chair away from the table. 

28 


THE FULFILLMENT OF THE WISH 


He seemed to require more air. ‘‘ Again I must ask 
you if you actually mean what you say.'^ ” he gasped. 

Spencer opened a pocketbook and counted four 
five-pound notes out of a goodly bundle. “ It is all 
here in neat copperplate,” he said, placing the notes 
on the table. “ Maybe you haven’t caught on to the i 
root idea of the proposition,” he continued, seeing 
that the other man was staring at him blankly. “ I 
w^ant Miss Wynton to have a real good time. I also 
want to lift her up a few rungs of the journalistic 
ladder. But she is sensitive, and would resent patron- 
age; so I must not figure in the affair at all. I have 
no other motive at the back of my head. I’m putting 
up two hundred pounds out of sheer philanthropy. 
Will you help.? ” 

‘‘ There are points about this amazing proposal 
that require elucidation,” said the editor slowly. 

“ Travel articles might possibly come within the 
scope of ‘ The Firefly ’ ; but I am aware that Miss 
Wynton is what might be termed an exceedingly 
attractive young lady. For instance, you wouldn’t 
be philanthropic on my account.” 

“ You never can tell. It all depends how your 
case appealed to me. But if you are hinting that 
I intend to use my scheme for the purpose of win- 
ning Miss Wynton’s favorable regard, I must say 
that she strikes me as the kind of girl who would 
think she had been swindled if she learned the truth. 
In any event, I may never see her again, and it is 
certainly not my design to follow her to Switzerland. 
29 


THE SILENT BARRIER 


I don’t kick at your questions. You’re old enough 
to be her father, and mine, for that matter. Go 
ahead. This is Saturday afternoon, you know, and 
there’s no business stirring.” 

Spencer had to cover the ground a second time 
j before everything was made clear. At last the fateful 
' letter was written. He promised to call on Monday 
and learn how the project fared. Then he relieved 
the cabman’s anxiety, as the alley possessed a second 
exit, and was driven to the Wellington Theater, 
where he secured a stall for that night’s performance 
of the Chinese musical comedy in which Miss Millicent 
Jaques played the part of a British Admiral’s 
daughter. 

While Spencer was watching Helen’s hostess cut- 
ting capers in a Mandarin’s palace, Helen herself 
was reading, over and over again, a most wonderful 
letter that had fallen from her sky. It had all the 
appearance of any ordinary missive. The King’s 
face on a penny stamp, or so much of it as was left 
uninjured by a postal smudge, looked familiar 
enough, and both envelop and paper resembled those 
which had brought her other communications from 
“ The Firefly.” But the text was magic, rank 
( necromancy. No wizard who ever dealt in black letter 
treatises could have devised a more convincing proof 
of his occult powers than this straightforward offer 
made by the editor of “ The Firefly.” Four articles 
of five thousand words each, — tickets and 100 
pounds awaiting her at a bank, — go to the Maloja- 
30 


THE FULFILLMENT OF THE WISH 


Kulm Hotel; leave London at the earliest possible 
date; please send photographs and suggestions for 
black-and-white illustrations of mountaineering and 
society! What could it possibly mean? 

At the third reading Helen began to convince her-' 
self tliat this rare stroke of luck was really hers. ^ 
The concluding paragraph shed light on “ The Fire- 
fly’s ” extraordinary outburst. 

“ As this commission heralds a new departure for 
the paper, I have to ask you to be good enough not 
to make known the object of your journey. In fact, 
it will be as well if you do not state your whereabouts 
to any persons other than your near relatives. Of 
course, all need for secrecy ceases with the appear- 
ance of your first article; but by that time yoii will 
practically be on your way home again. I am anxious 
to impress on you the importance of this instruction.” 

Helen found herein the germ of understanding. 
“ The Firefly ” meant to boom itself on its Swiss 
correspondence; but even that darksome piece of 
journalistic enterprise did not explain the princely 
munificence of the hundred pounds. At last, when 
she calmed down sufficiently to be capable of con- 
nected thought, she saw that “ mountaineering ” 
implied the hire of guides, and that “ society ” meant 
frocks. Of course it was intended that she should 
spend the whole of the money, and thus give ‘‘ The 
Firefly ” a fair return for its outlay. And a rapid 
calculation revealed the dazzling fact that after set- 
ting aside the fabulous sum of two pounds a day for 
31 


THE SILENT BARRIER 


expenses she still had forty pounds left wherewith 
to replenish her scanty stock of dresses. 

Believing that at any instant the letter might 
dissolve into a curt request to keep her scientific jot- 
tings strictly within the limits of a column, Helen 
sat with it lying open on her lap, and searched the 
pages of a tattered guidebook for particulars of 
the Upper Engadine. She had read every line be- 
fore ; but the words now seemed to live. St. Moritz, 
Pontresina, Sils-Maria, Silvaplana, — they ceased to 
be mere names, — they became actualities. The Julier 
Pass, the Septimer, the Forno Glacier, the Diavolezza 
Route, and the rest of the stately panorama of snow- 
capped peaks, blue lakes, and narrow valleys, — 
valleys which began with picturesque chalets, dun 
colored cattle, and herb laden pastures, and ended 
in the yawning mouths of ice rivers whence issued 
the milky white streams that dashed through the 
lower gorges, — they passed before her eyes as she 
read till she was dazzled by their glories. 

What a day dream to one who dwelt in smoky 
London year in and year out! What an experience 
to look forward to I What memories to treasure I 
Nor was she blind to the effect of the undertaking 
on her future. Though “ The Firefly ” was not 
an important paper, though its editor was of a half- 
forgotten day and generation, she would now have 
good work to show when asked what she had done. 
She was not enamored of beetles. Even the classify- 
ing of them was monotonous, and she had striven 
32 


THE FULFILLMENT OF THE WISH 


bravely to push her way through the throng of 
would-be writers that besieged the doors of every 
popular periodical in London. It was a heartbreak- 
ing struggle. The same post that gave her this 
epoch marking letter had brought back two stories 
with the stereotyped expression of editorial regret. 

Now,” thought Helen, when her glance fell on 
the bulky envelops, “ my name will at least become 
known. And editors very much resemble the public 
they cater for. If a writer achieves success, they all 
want him. I have often marveled how any author 
got his first chance. Now I know. It comes this 
W'ay, like a flash of lightning from a summer 
sky.” 

It was only fit and proper that she should magnify 
her first real commission. No veteran soldier ever 
donned a field marshal’s uniform with the same zest 
that he displayed when his subaltern’s outfit came 
from the tailor. So Helen glowed with that serious 
enthusiasm which is the soul of genius, for without it 
life becomes flat and gray, and she passed many 
anxious, half-doubting hours until a courteous bank 
official handed her a packet at the appointed time 
on Monday, and gave her a receipt to sign, and 
asked her how she would take her hundred pounds — 
did she want it all in notes or some in gold.^ 

She was so unnerved by this sudden confirmation 
of her good fortune that she stammered confusedly, 
“ I — really — don’t know.” 

“ Well, it would be rather heavy in gold,” came 

33 


THE SILENT BARRIER 


the smiling comment. “ This money, I understand,, 
is paid to you for some journalistic enterprise that 
will take you abroad. May I suggest that you should 
carry, say, thirty pounds in notes and ten in gold, 
and allow me to give you the balance in the form of 
circular notes, which are payable only under your 
signature.'^ ” 

“ Yes,” said Helen, rosy red at her own awkward- 
ness, “ that will be very nice.” 

The official pushed across the counter some bank- 
notes and sovereigns, and summoned a commission- 
aire to usher her into the waiting room till he had 
prepared the circular notes. The respite was a bless- 
ing. It gave Helen time to recover her self posses- 
sion. She opened the packet and found therein 
coupons for the journey to and from St. Moritz, 
together with a letter from the sleeping car com- 
pany, from which she gathered that a berth on the 
Engadine Express was provisionally reserved in her 
name for the following Thursday, but any change 
to a later date must be made forthwith, as^ the holi- 
day pressure was beginning. It was advisable too, 
she was reminded, that she should secure her return 
berth before leaving London. 

Each moment the reality of the tour became more 
patent. She might feel herself bewitched ; but 
pounds sterling and railway tickets were tangible 
things, and not to be explained away by any fantasy. 
By the time her additional wealth was ready she was 
better fitted to guard it. She hurried away quite 
34 


THE FULFILLMENT OF THE WISH 


unconscious of the admiring eyes that were raised 
from dockets and ledgers behind the grille. She 
made for the court in which “ The Firefly ” had its 
abode. The squalor of the passage, the poverty 
stricken aspect of the stairs, — items which had pre- 
pared her on other occasions for the starvation rate 
of pay off*ered for her work, — now passed unheeded. 
This affectation of scanty means was humorous. 
Obviously, some millionaire had secured what the 
newspapers called ‘‘ a controlling interest ” in “ The 
Firefly.” 

She sought Mackenzie, the editor, and he received 
her with a manifest reluctance to waste his precious 
time over details that was almost as convincing as 
the money and vouchers she carried. 

“ Yes, Thursday will suit admirably,” he said in 
reply to her breathless questions. ‘‘ You will reach 
Maloja on Friday evening, and if you post the first 
article that day week it will arrive in good time for 
the next number. As for the style and tone, I leave 
those considerations entirely to you. So long as the 
matter is bright and readable, that is all I want. I 
put my requirements clearly in my letter. Follow 
that, and you cannot make any mistake.” 

Helen little realized how precise were the instruc- 
tions given two hours earlier to the editor, the bank 
clerk, and the sleeping car company. Mackenzie’s 
curt acceptance of her mission brought a wondering 
cry to her lips. 

I am naturally overjoyed at my selection for 

35 


THE SILENT BARRIER 


this work,” she said. “ May I ask how you came 
to think of me.?’ ” 

“ Oh, it is hard to say how these things are de- 
termined,” he answered. “We liked your crisp way 
of putting dull facts, I suppose, and thought that a 
young lady’s impressions of life in an Anglo-Swiss 
summer community would be fresher and more at- 
tractive than a man’s. That is all. I hope you will 
enjoy your experiences.” 

“ But, please, I want to thank you ” 

“Not a word! Business is business, you know. 
If a thing is worth doing, it must be done well. 
Good-by I ” 

He flattered himself that he could spend another 
man’s money with as lordly an air as the youngest 
journalist on Fleet-st. The difficulty was to find 
the man with the money, and Mackenzie had given 
much thought during the Sabbath to the potentiali- 
ties that lay behind Spencer’s whim. He was sure 
the incident would not close with the publication of 
Miss Wynton’s articles. Judiciously handled, her 
unknown benefactor might prove equally beneficial 
to “ The Firefly.” 

So Helen tripped out into Fleet-st., and turned 
her pretty face westward, and looked so eager and 
happy that it is not surprising if many a man eyed 
her as she passed, and many a woman sighed to think 
that another woman could find life in this dreary 
city such a joyous thing. 

A sharp walk through the Strand and across 

36 


THE FULFILLMENT OF THE WISH 


Trafalgar Square did a good deal toward restoring 
the poise of her wits. For safety, she had pinned 
the envelop containing her paper money and tickets 
inside her blouse. The mere presence of the solid 
little parcel reminded her at every movement that 
she was truly bound for the wonderful Engadine, 
and, now that the notion was becoming familiar, she 
was the more astonished that the choice of “ The 
Firefly ” had fallen on her. It was all very well for 
Mr. Mackenzie to say that the paper would be bright- 
ened by a woman’s views on life in the high Alps. 
The poor worn man looked as if such a holiday would 
have done him a world of good. But the certain fact 
remained that there was no room for error. It was 
she, Helen Wynton, and none other, for whom the 
gods had contrived this miracle. If it had been 
possible, she would have crossed busy Cockspur-st. 
with a hop, skip, and a jump in order to gain the 
sleeping car company’s premises. 

She knew the place well. Many a time had she 
looked at the attractive posters in the windows, — 
those gorgeous fly sheets that told of winter in 
summer among the mountains of Switzerland and 
the Tyrol, and of summer in winter along the sunlit 
shores of the Cote d’Azur. She almost laughed 
aloud at the thought that possessed her as she waited 
for a moment on the curb to allow a press of traffic 
to pass. 

“ If my luck holds till Christmas, I may be sent 
to Monte Carlo,” she said to herself. “ And why 
37 


THE SILENT BARRIER 


not? It’s the first step that counts, and ‘ The Fire- 
fly,’ once fairly embarked on a career of wild ex- 
travagance, may keep it up.” 

Under the pressure of that further inspiration she 
refused to wait any longer, but dodged an omnibus, 
a motor car, and some hansoms, and pushed open 
the swing doors of the Bureau de la Campagnie des 
Wagons-Lits. She did not notice that the automobile 
stopped very quickly a few yards higher up the 
street. The occupant, Mark Bower, alighted, looked 
at her through the window to make sure he was not 
mistaken, and followed her into the building. He 
addressed some question to an attendant, and heard 
Helen say: 

“ Yes, please. Thursday will suit admirably. I 
am going straight through to St. Moritz. I shall 
call on Wednesday and let you know what day I wish 
to return.” 

If Bower had intended to speak to her, he seemed 
to change his mind rather promptly. Helen’s back 
was turned. She was watching a clerk writing out 
a voucher for her berth in the sleeping car, and the 
office was full of other prospective travelers dis- 
cussing times and routes with the officials. Bower 
thanked his informant for information which he ^ 
could have supplied in ampler detail himself. Then 
he went out, and looked again at Helen from the 
doorway; but she was wholly unaware of his pres- 
ence. 

Thus it came about, quite simply and naturally, 

58 


THE FULFn.LMENT OF THE WISH 


■that Mark Bower met Miss Helen Wynton on the 
platform of Victoria Station on Thursday morning, 
and learned that, like himself, she was a passenger 
by the Engadine Express. He took her presence 
as a matter of course, hoped she would allow him to 
secure her a comfortable chair on the steamer, told 
her that the weather report was excellent, and re- 
marked that they might expect a pleasant crossing 
in the new turbine steamer. 

Then, having ascertained that she had a comer 
seat, and that her luggage was registered through 
to St. Moritz (Helen having arrived at the station 
a good hour before the train was due to start), he 
bowed himself away, being far too skilled a stalker 
of such shy game to thrust his company on her 
at that stage. 

His attitude was very polite and friendly, and 
Helen was almost grateful to the chance which had 
brought him there. She was feeling just a trifle 
lonely in the midst of the gay and chattering throng 
that crowded the station. The presence of one who 
was not wholly a stranger, of a friend’s friend, of a 
man whose name was familiar, made the journey look 
less dreamlike. She was glad he had not sought to 
travel in her carriage. That was tactful, and in- 
deed his courtesy and pleasant words during her 
first brief meeting with him in the Embankment 
Hotel had conveyed the same favorable impression. 

So when the hour hand of the big clock overhang- 
ing the center of the platform pointed to eleven, the 

39 


THE SILENT BARRIER 


long train glided quietly away with its load of 
pleasure-seekers, and neither Helen nor her new 
acquaintance could possibly know that their meet- 
ing had been witnessed, with a blank amazement that 
was rapidly transmuted into sheer annoyance, by 
a young American engineer named Charles K, 
Spencer. 


\ 


40 



CHAPTER in 

WHEREIN TWO PEOPLE BECOME BETTER ACQUAINTED 

Mackenzie, of course, was aware that Miss 
Wynton would leave London by the eleven o’clock 
train on Thursday, and Spencer saw no harm in 
witnessing her departure. He found a good deal 
of quiet fun in noting her animated expression and 
businesslike air. Her whole-souled enjoyment of 
novel surroundings was an asset for the outlay of 
his two hundred pounds, and he had fully and finally 
excused that piece of extravagance until he caught 
sight of Bower strolling along the platform with 
the easy confidence of one who knew exactly whom 
he would meet and how he would account for his 
unbidden presence. 

Spencer at once suspected the man’s motives, not 
without fair cause. They were, he thought, as plain 
to him as they were hidden from the girl. Bower 
counterfeited the genuine surprise on Helen’s face 
4i 


THE SILENT BARRIER 


with admirable skill; but, to the startled onlooker, 
peering beneath the actor’s mask, his stagy artifice 
was laid bare. 

And Spencer was quite helpless, a condition that 
irritated him almost beyond control. He had abso- 
lutely no grounds for interference. He could only 
glower angrily and in silence at a meeting he could 
not prevent. Conjecture might run riot as to the 
causes which had given this sinister bend to an idyl, 
but perforce he must remain dumb. 

From one point of view, it was lucky that Helen’s 
self appointed “ godfather ” was in a position not 
to misjudge her; from another, it would have been 
better for Spencer’s peace of mind were he left in 
ignorance of the trap that was apparently being 
laid for her. Perhaps Fate had planned this thing — 
having lately smiled on the American, she may have 
determined to plague him somewhat. At any rate, 
in that instant the whole trend of his purpose took 
a new turn. From a general belief that he would 
never again set eyes on one in whose fortunes he 
felt a transient interest, his intent swerved to a fixed 
resolve to protect her from Bower. It would have 
puzzled him to assign a motive for his dislike of 
the man. But the feeling was there, strong and 
active. It even gave him a certain satisfaction to 
remember that he was hostile to Bower before he 
had seen him. 

Indeed, he nearly yielded to the momentary im- 
pulse that bade him hasten to the booking office 
42 


BECOME BETTER ACQUAINTED 


and secure a ticket for St. Moritz forthwith. He 
dismissed the notion as quixotic and unnecessary. 
Bower’s attitude in not pressing his company on 
Miss, Wynton at this initial stage of the journey 
revealed a subtlety that demanded equal restraint 
on Spencer’s part. Helen herself was so far from 
suspecting the truth that Bower would be compelled 
to keep up the pretense of a casual rencontre. 
Nevertheless, Spencer’s chivalric nature was stirred 
to the depths. The conversation overheard in the 
Embankment Hotel had given him a knowledge of 
the characteristics of two women that would have 
amazed both of them were they told of it. He was 
able to measure too the exact extent of Bower’s 
acquaintance with Helen, while he was confident that 
the relationship between Bower and Millicent Jaques 
had gone a great deal further than might be inferred 
from the actress’s curt statement that he was one 
whom she “ wished to avoid.” These two extremes 
could be reconciled only by a most unfavorable esti- 
mate of Bower, and that the American conceded 
without argument. 

Of course, there remained the possibility that 
Bower was really a traveler that day by idle chance ; 
but Spencer blew aside this alternative with the first 
whifF of smoke from the cigar he lit mechanically as 
soon as the train left the station. 

“ No,” he said, in grim self communing, “ the 
skunk found out somehow that she was going abroad, 
and planned to accompany her. I could see it in 


THE SILENT BARRIER 


the smirk on his face as soon as he discovered her 
whereabouts on the platform. If he means to sum- 
mer at Maloja, I guess my thousand dollars was 
expended to no good purpose, and the quicker I 
put up another thousand to pull things straight 
the happier I shall be. And let me tell you, mother, 
that if I get Helen through this business well and 
happy, I shall quit fooling round as godfather, or 
stage uncle, or any other sort of soft-hearted idiot. 
Meanwhile, Bower has jumped my claim.” 

His glance happened to fall on an official with 
the legend “ Ticket Inspector ” on the collar of his 
coat. He remembered that this man, or some other 
closely resembling him, had visited the carriage in 
which Bower traveled. 

‘‘ Say,” he cried, hailing him on the spur of the 
moment, “ when does the next train leave for St. 
Moritz.? ” 

“ At two-twenty from Charing Cross, sir. But 
the Engadine Express is the best one. Did you 
miss it.? ” 

“No. I just blew in here to see a friend off, and 
the trip kind of appealed to me. Did you notice 
a reserved compartment for a Mr. Mark Bower.? ” 

“ I know Mr. Bower very well, sir. He goes to 
Paris or Vienna twenty times a year.” 

“To-day^ he is going to Switzerland.” 

“ So he is, to Zurich, I think. First single he 
had. But he’s sure to bring up in Vienna or Frank- 
fort. I wish I knew half what he knows about 
44 


BECOME BETTER ACQUAINTED 


foreign money business. I shouldn’t be punching 
tickets here very long. Thank you, sir. Charing 
Cross at two-twenty; but you may have difficulty 
about booking a berth in the sleeper. Just now 
everybody is crossing the Channel.” 

“ It looks like that,” said Spencer, who had ob- 
tained the information he wanted. Taking a cab, 
he drove to the sleeping car company’s office, where 
he asked for a map of the Swiss railways. Zurich, 
as Bower’s destination, puzzled him; but he did not 
falter in his purpose. 

“ The man is a rogue,” he thought, “ or I have 
never seen one. Anyhow, a night in the train doesn’t 
cut any ice, and Switzerland can fill the bill for a 
week as well as London or Scotland.” 

He was fortunate in the fact that some person 
wished to postpone a journey that day, and the 
accident assured him of comfortable quarters from 
Calais onward. Then he drove to a bank, and to 
‘‘The Firefly” office. Mackenzie had just opened 
his second bottle of beer. By this time he regarded 
Spencer as an amiable lunatic. He greeted him now 
with as much glee as his dreary nature was capable of. 

“ Hello ! ” he said. “ Been to see the last of the 
lady ? ” 

“ Not quite. I want to take back what I said 
about not going to Switzerland. I’m following this 
afternoon.” 

“ Great Scott ! You’re sudden.” 

“ I’m built that way,” said Spencer dryly. “ Here 

45 


THE SILENT BARRIER 


are the sixty pounds I promised you. Now I want 
you to do me a favor. Send a messenger to the 
Wellington Theater with a note for Miss Millicent 
Jaques, and ask her if she can oblige you with the 
present address of Miss Helen Wynton. Make a 
pretext of work. No matter if she writes to her 
friend and the inquiry leads to talk. You can put 
up a suitable fairy tale, I have no doubt.” 

“ Better still, let my assistant write. Then if 
necessary I can curse him for not minding his own 
business. But what’s in the wind.^ ” 

“ I wish to find out whether or not Miss Jaques 
knows of this Swiss journey; that is all. If the reply 
reaches you by one o’clock send it to the Embank- 
ment Hotel. Otherwise, post it to me at the Kursaal, 
Maloja-Kulm; but not in an office envelop.” 

You’ll come back, Mr. Spencer ” said the editor 
plaintively, for he had visions of persuading the 
eccentric American to start a magazine of his own. 

“ Oh, yes. You’ll probably see me again within 
six days. I’ll look in and report progress. Good by.” 

A messenger caught him as he was leaving the 
hotel. Mackenzie had not lost any time, and Miss 
Jaques happened to be at the theater. 

“ Sorry,” she wrote, in the artistic script that 
looks so well in face cream and soap advertisements, 
“ I can’t for the life of me remember the number ; 
but Miss Wyton lives somewhere in Warburton 
Gardens.” The signature, “ Millicent Jaques,” was 
an elegant thing in itself, carefully thought out and 
46 


BECOME BETTER ACQUAINTED 


never hurried in execution, no matter how pressed 
she might be for time. Spencer was on the point 
of scattering the note in little pieces along the 
Strand; but he checked himself. 

“ Guess I’ll keep this as a souvenir,” he said, and 
it found a place in his pocketbook. 

Helen Wynton, having crossed the Channel many 
times during her childhood, was no novice amid the 
bustle and crush on the narrow pier at Dover. She 
had dispensed with all accessories for the journey, 
except the few articles that could be crammed into 
a handbag. Thus, being independent of porters, 
she was one of the first to reach the steamer’s gang- 
way. As usual, all the most sheltered nooks on 
board were occupied. There seems to be a mysteri- 
ous type of traveler who inhabits the cross-Channel 
vessels permanently. No matter how speedy may be 
the movements of a passenger by the boat-train, 
either at Dover or Calais, the best seats on the upper 
deck invariably reveal the presence of earlier arrivals 
by deposits of wraps and packages. This phenome- 
non was not strange to Helen. A more baffling cir- 
cumstance was the altered shape of the ship. The 
familiar lines of the paddle steamer were gone, and 
Helen was wondering where she might best bestow 
herself and her tiny valise, when she heard Bower’s 
voice. 

‘‘ I took the precaution to telegraph from London 
to one of the ship’s officers,” he said, and nodded 
toward a couple of waterproof rugs which guarded 
47 


THE SILENT BARRIER 


a recess behind the Captain’s cabin. “ That is our 
corner, I expect. My friend will be here in a 
moment.” 

Sure enough, a man in unifonn approached and 
lifted his gold laced cap. “We have a rather 
' crowded ship, Mr. Bower,” he said ; “ but you will 
be quite comfortable there. I suppose you deemed 
the weather too fine to need your usual cabin.? ” 

“ Yes. I have a companion to-day, you see.” 

Helen was a little bewildered by this; but it was 
very pleasant to claim undisputed possession of a 
quiet retreat from which to watch others trying to 
find chairs. And, although Bower had a place re- 
served by her side, he did not sit down. He chatted 
for a few minutes on such eminently safe topics as 
the smooth sea, the superiority of turbine engines in 
the matter of steadiness, the advisability of lunching 
in the train after leaving Calais, rather than on 
board the ship, and soon betook himself aft, there 
to smoke and chat with some acquaintances whom he 
fell in with. Dover Castle was becoming a gray 
blur on the horizon when he spoke to Helen 
again. 

“ You look quite comfortable,” he said pleasantly, 
“ and it is wise not to risk walking about if you are 
afraid of being ill.” 

“ I used to cross in bad weather without conse- 
quences,” she answered ; “ but I am older now, and 
am doubtful of experiments.” 

“ You were educated abroad, then.? ” 

48 


BECOME BETTER ACQUAINTED 


“ Yes. I was three years in Brussels — three happy 
years.” 

“Ah! Why qualify them? All your years are 
happy, I should imagine, if I may judge by appear- 
ances.” 

“ Well, if happiness can be defined as contentment, 
you are right; but I have had my sad periods too, 
Mr. Bower. I lost my mother when I was eighteen, 
and that was a blow under which I have never ceased 
to wince. Fortunately, I had to seek consolation in 
work. Added to good health, it makes for con- 
tent.” 

“ You are quite a philosopher. Will you pardon 
my curiosity? I too lead the strenuous life. Now, 
I should like to have your definition of work. I am 
not questioning your capacity. My wonder is that 
you shoulcj mention it at all.” 

“But why? Any man who knows what toil is 
should not regard women as dolls.” 

“ I prefer to look on them as goddesses.” 

Helen smiled. “ I fear, then, you will deem my 
pedestal a sorry one,” she said. “ Perhaps you 
think, because you met me once in Miss Jaques’s 
company, and again here, traveling de luxe, that 
I am in her set. I am not. By courtesy I am called 
a ‘ secretary ’ ; but the title might be shortened into 
‘ typist.’ I help Professor von Eulenberg with his — 
scientific researches.” 

Though it was on the tip of her tongue to say 
“ beetles,” she substituted the more dignified phrase. 
49 


THE SILENT BARRIER 


Bower was very nice and kind; but she felt that 
“ beetles ” might sound somewhat flippant and lend 
a too familiar tone to their conversation. 

“Von Eulenberg.? I have heard of him. Quite a 
distinguished man in his own line; an authority on — ■ 
moths, is it? ” 

“ Insects generally.” 

She blushed and laughed outright, not only at the 
boomerang effect of her grandiloquent description 
of the professor’s industry, but at the absurdity of 
her position. Above all else, Helen was candid, and 
there was no reason why she should not enlighten a 
comparative stranger who seemed to take a friendly 
interest in her. 

“ I ought to explain,” she went on, “ that I am 
going to the Engadine as a journalist. I have had 
the good fortune to be chosen for a very pleasant 
task. Hence this present grandeur, which, I assure 
you, is not a usual condition of entomological secre- 
taries.” 

Bower pretended to ward off some unexpected 
attack. “ I have done nothing to deserve a hard 
word like that. Miss Wynton,” he cried. “ I shall 
not recover till we reach Calais. May I sit beside 
you while you tell me what it means ? ” 

She made room for him. Strictly speaking, it is 
nonsense,” she said. 

“ Excellent. That is the better line for women 
who are young and pretty. We jaded men of the 
(world hate to be serious when we leave business be- 
60 


BECOME BETTER ACQUAINTED 


hind. Now, you would scarce credit what a lively 
youngster I am when I come abroad for a holiday. 
I always kiss my fingers to France at the first sight 
of her fair face. She bubbles like her own cham- 
pagne, whereas London invariably reminds me of 
beer.” 

“ Do I take it that you prefer gas to froth ” 

“ You offer me difficult alternatives, yet I accept 
them. Though gas is as dreadful a description of 
champagne as entomological is of a certain type of 
secretary, I would venture to point out that it ex- 
pands, effervesces, soars ever to greater heights; 
but beer, froth and all, tends to become flat, stale, 
and unprofitable.” 

“ I assure you my knowledge of both is limited. 
I had never even tasted champagne until the other 
day.” 

“ When you lunched with Millicent at the Em'= 
bankment Hotel.? ” 

“ Well — ^yes. She was at school with me, and we 
met last week by accident. She is making quite a 
success at the Wellington Theater, is she not.? ” 

“ So I hear. I am a director of that concern ; 
but I seldom go there.” 

‘‘ How odd that sounds to one who saves up her 
pennies to attend a favorite play ! ” 

‘‘ Then you must have my address, and when I am 
in town you need never want a stall at any theater 
in London. Now, that is no idle promise. I mean 
it. Nothing would give me greater pleasure than 
51 


THE SILENT BARRIER 


to think you were enjoying something through my 
instrumentality.” 

“ How exceedingly kind of you ! I shall take you 
at your word. What girl wouldn’t,? ” 

“ I know quite a number who regard me as an 
ogre. I am not a lady’s man in the general sense 
of the term, Miss Wynton. I might tell you more 
about myself if it were not for signs that the next 
five minutes will bring us to Calais. You are far 
too independent, I suppose, that I should offer to 
carry your bag; but will you allow me to reserve 
a joint table for dejeuner? There will be a rush for 
the first service, which is the best, as a rule, and I 
have friends at court on this line. Please don’t say 
you are not hungry.” 

“ That would be impohte, and horribly untrue,” 
laughed Helen. 

He took the implied permission, and hurried away. 
They did not meet again until he came to her car- 
riage in the train. 

“Is this where you are.?” he cried, looking up 
at her through the open window. “ I am in the 
next block, as they say in America. When you are 
ready I shall take you to the dining car. Come out 
on the platform. The corridors are simply impass- 
able. And here are baskets of peaches, and ripe 
pears, and all manner of pleasant fruits. Yes, try 
the corridor to the right, and charge resolutely. If 
you inflict the maximum injury on others, you seldom 
damage yourself.” 


52 


BECOME BETTER ACQUAINTED 


In a word, Mark Bower spoke as lightheartedly 
as he professed to feel, and Helen had no cause what- 
ever to be other than thankful for the chance that 
brought him to Switzerland on the same day and in 
the same train as herself. His delicate consideration 
for her well being was manifested in many ways. 
That such a man, whom she knew to be a figure of 
importance in the financial world, should take an in- 
terest in the simple chronicles of her past life was a 
flattering thing in itself. He listened sympathetically 
to the story of her struggles since the death of her 
mother. The consequent stoppage of the annuity 
paid to the widow of an Indian civilian rendered it 
necessary that Helen should supplement by her own 
efforts the fifty pounds a year allotted to her “ until 
death or marriage.” 

‘‘ There are plenty of country districts where I 
could exist quite easily on such a sum,” she said; 

but I declined to be buried alive in that fashion, 
and I made up my mind to earn my own living. 
Somehow, London appeals to young people situated 
as I was. It is there that the great prizes are to be 
gained; so I came to London.” 

“ From ” broke in Bower, who was peeling one 

of the peaches bought at Calais. 

“ From a village near Sheringham, in Nor- 
folk.” 

He nodded with smiling comprehension when she 
detailed her struggles with editors who could detect 
no originality in her literary work. 

53 


THE SILENT BARRIER 


‘‘ But that phase has passed now,” he said en- 
couragingly. 

“ Well, it looks like it. I hope so ; for I am tired 
of classifying beetles.” 

There — the word was out at last. Perhaps Bower 
wondered why she laughed and blushed at the recol- 
lection of her earlier determination to suppress von 
Eulenberg’s “ specimens ” as a topic of conversation. 
Already the stiffness of their talk on board the 
steamship seemed to have vanished completely. It 
was really a pleasant way of passing the time to sit 
and chat in this glass palace while the train skimmed 
over a dull land of marshes and poplars. 

“ Beetles, though apt to be flighty, are otherwise 
dull creatures,” he said. “ May I ask what paper 
you are representing on your present tour.^* ” 

It was an obvious and harmless question ; but 
Helen was loyal to her bond. “ It sounds absurd 
to have to say it, but I am pledged to secrecy,” she 
answered. 

“ Good gracious ! Don’t tell me you intend to 
interview anarchists, or runaway queens, or the other 
disgruntled people who live in Switzerland. More- 
over, they usually find quarters in Geneva, while 
you presumably are bound for the Engadine.” 

“ Oh, no. My work lies in less excitable circles. 
‘ Life in a Swiss hotel ’ would be nearer the mark.” 

“ Apart from the unusual surroundings, you will 
find it suspiciously like life in a quiet Norfolk village. 
Miss Wynton,” said Bower. He paused, tasted the 
54 < 


BECOME BETTER ACQUAINTED 


peach, and made a grimace. “ Sour ! ” he protested. 
“ Really, when all is said and done, the only 
place in which one can buy a decent peach is 
London.” 

“ Ah, a distinct score for Britain ! ” 

‘‘ And a fair hit to your credit. Let me urge in 
self defense that if life in France bubbles, it occa- 
sionally leaves a bitter taste in the mouth. Now you 
shall go and read, and sleep a little perhaps, if that 
is not a heretical thing to suggest. We have the 
same table for afternoon tea and dinner.” 

Helen had never met such a versatile man. He 
talked of most things with knowledge and restraint 
and some humor. She could not help admitting that 
the journey would have been exceedingly dull with- 
out his companionship, and he had the tact to make 
her feel that he was equally indebted to her for pass- 
ing the long hours. At dinner she noticed that they 
were served with dishes not supplied to others in 
the dining car. 

“ I hope you have not been ordering a dreadfully 
expensive meal,” she ventured to say. “ I must pay 
my share, you know, and I am quite an economical 
person.” 

‘‘ There ! ” he vowed. “ That is the first unkind 
word you have uttered. Surely you will not refuse 
to be my guest.? Indeed, I was hoping that to-day 
marked the beginning of a new era, wherein we might 
meet at times and criticize humanity to our hearts’ 
content.” 


55 


THE SILENT BARRIER 


“ I should feel unhappy if I did not pay,” she 
insisted. 

“ Well, then, I shall charge you table d’hote 
prices. Will that content you.^” 

So, when the attendant came to the other tables, 
Helen produced her purse, and Bower solemnly 
accepted her few francs ; but no bill was presented to 
him. 

“ You see,” he said, smiling at her through a glass 
of golden wine, “ you have missed a great oppor- 
tunity. Not one woman in a million can say that 
she has dined at the railway company’s expense in 
France.” 

She was puzzled. His manner had become slightly 
more confidential during the meal. It needed no 
feminine intuition to realize that he admired her. 
Excitement, the sea air, the heated atmosphere, and 
unceasing onrush of the train, had flushed her cheeks 
and lent a deeper shade to her brown eyes. She knew 
that Bower’s was not the only glance that dwelt on 
her with a curious and somewhat unnerving appraise- 
ment. Other men, and not a few women, stared at 
her. The mirror in her dressing room had told her 
that she was looking her best, and her heart fluttered , 
a little at the thought that she had succeeded, with- * 
out effort, in winning the appreciation of a man 
highly placed in the world of fashion and finance. 
The conceit induced an odd feeling of embarrass- 
ment. To dispel it she took up his words in a vein 
of playful sarcasm. 


56 


BECOME BETTER ACQUAINTED 


“ If you assure me that for some unexplained 
reason the railway authorities are giving us this 
excellent dinner for nothing, please return my 
money,” she said. 

“ The gifts of the gods, and eke of railway com- 
panies, must be taken without question,” he answered. 
“No, I shall keep your pieces of silver. I mean to 
invest them. It will amuse me to learn how much I 
can make on an initial capital of twelve francs, fifty 
centimes. Will you allow that.?^ I shall be scrupu- 
lously accurate, and submit an audited account at 
Christmas. Even my worst enemies have never 
alleged dishonesty against me. Is it a bargain.'^ ” 

“ Y — yes,” she stammered confusedly, hardly 
knowing what he meant. He was leaning over the 
small table and looking steadfastly at her. She 
noticed that the wine and food had made his skin 
greasy. It suddenly occurred to her that Mark 
Bower resembled certain exotic plants which must 
be viewed from a distance if they would gratify the 
critical senses. The gloss of a careful toilet was 
gone. He was altogether cruder, coarser, more 
animal, since he had eaten, though his consumption 
of wine was quite moderate. His big, rather fierce 
eyes were more than prominent now; they bulged. 
Certain Jewish characteristics in his face had 
become accentuated. She remembered the ancient 
habit of anointing with oil, and laughed at the 
thought, for that was a little trick of hers to conceal 


nervousness. 


57 


THE SILENT BARRIER 


You doubt me, then? ” he half whispered. Or 
do you deem it beyond the power of finance to con- 
vert so small a sum into hundreds — it may be thou- 
sands — of pounds in six months?” 

“ Indeed I should credit you with ability to do that 
and more, Mr. Bower,” she said ; “ but I was wonder- 
ing why you made such an offer to a mere acquaint- 
ance, — one whom it is more than likely you will never 
meet again.” 

The phrase had a harsh and awkward sound in 
her ears. Bower, to her relief, seemed to ig- 
nore it. 

“ It is permissible to gratify an impulse once in 
awhile,” he countered. “ And not to mention the 
audited accounts, there was a matter of theater 
tickets that should serve to bring us together again. 
Won’t you give me your address, in London if not 
in Switzerland? Here is mine.” 

He produced a pocketbook, and picked out a card. 
It bore his name and his club. He added, in pencil, 

50 Hamilton Place.” 

“ Letters sent to my house reach me, no matter 
where I may happen to be,” he said. 

The incident brought fresh tremors to Helen. In- 
deed, the penciled address came as an unpleasant 
shock; for Millicent Jaques, on the day they met in 
Piccadilly, having gone home with Helen to tea, ex- 
cused an early departure on the ground that she was 
due to dinner at that very house. 

But she took the card, and strove desperately to 
58 


BECOME BETTER ACQUAINTED 


appear at ease, for she had no cause to quarrel with 
one whose manners were so courteous. 

“ Thank you very much,” she said. “ If you care 
to see my articles in the — in the paper, I shall send 
you copies. Now I must say good by. I am rather 
tired. Before I go let me say how deeply indebted I 
feel for your kindness to-day.” ^ 

She rose. Bower stood up too, and bowed with 
smiling deference. “ Good night,” he said. “ You 
will not be disturbed by the customs people at the 
frontier. I have arranged all that.” 

Helen made the best of her way along the swaying 
corridors till she reached her section of the sleeping 
car; but Bower resumed his seat at the table. He 
ordered a glass of fine champagne and held it up to 
the light. There was a decided frown on his strong 
face, and the attendant who served him imagined 
that there was something wrong with the liqueur. 

“ N'est-ce pas bon, m'sieur? ” he began. 

“ Will you go to the devil ” said Bower, speaking 
very slowly without looking at him. 

“ Oui, m^sieur, Je vous as sure,''' and the man dis- 
appeared. 

It was not the wine, but the woman, that was 
perplexing him. Not often had the lure of gold 
failed so signally. And why was she so manifestly 
startled at the last moment Had he gone too far.?’ 
Was he mistaken in the assumption that Millicent 
Jaques had said little or nothing concerning him 
to her friend.? And this commission too, — ^there were 
59 


THE SILENT BARRIER 


inexplicable features about it. He knew a great deal 
of the ways of newspapers, daily and weekly, and it 
was not the journalistic habit to send inexperienced 
young women on costly journeys to write up Swiss 
summer resorts. 

He frowned still more deeply as he thought of the 
Maloja-Kulm Hotel, for Helen had innocently 
affixed a label bearing her address on her handbag. 
He peopled it with dozens of smart young men and 
not a few older beaux of his own type. His features 
relaxed somewhat when he remembered the women. 
Helen was alone, and far too good-looking to com- 
mand sympathy. There should be the elements of 
trouble in that quarter. If he played his cards well, 
and he had no reason to doubt his skill, Helen should 
greet him as her best friend when he surprised her 
by appearing unexpectedly at the Maloja-Kulm. 

Then he waxed critical. She was young, and 
lively, and unquestionably pretty ; but was she worth 
all this planning and contriving.'^ She was by way 
of being a prude too, and held serious notions of 
women’s place in the scheme of things. At any rate, 
the day’s hunting had not brought him far out of 
his path, Frankfort being his real objective, and he 
would make up his mind later. Perhaps she would 
remove all obstacles by writing to him on her return 
to London ; but the recollection of her frank, clear 
gaze, of lips that were molded for strength as well 
as sweetness, of the dignity and grace with which 
the well shaped head was poised on a white firm neck, 


BECOME BETTER ACQUAINTED 


warned him that such a woman might surrender to 
love, but never to greed. 

Then he laughed, and ordered another liqueur, 
and drank a toast to to-morrow, when all things come 
to pass for the man who knows how to contrive 
to-day. 

In the early morning, at Basle, he awoke, and was 
somewhat angry with himself when he found that his 
thoughts still dwelt on Helen Wynton. In the cold 
gray glimmer of dawn, and after the unpleasant 
shaking his pampered body had received all night, 
some of the romance of this latest quest had evap- 
orated. He was stiff and weary, and he regretted 
the whim that had led him a good twelve hours astray. 
But he roused himself and dressed with care. Some 
twenty minutes short of Zurich he sent an attendant 
to Miss Wynton’s berth to inquire if she would join 
him for early^ coffee at that station, there being a 
wait of a quarter of an hour before the train went 
on to Coire. 

Helen, who was up and dressed, said she would be 
delighted. She too had been thinking, and, being 
a healthy-minded and kind-hearted girl, had come 
to the conclusion that her abrupt departure the 
previous night was wholly uncalled for and ungra- 
cious. 

Sa it was with a smiling face that she awaited 
Bower on the steps of her carriage. She shook hands 
with him cordially, did not object in the least degree 
when he seized her arm to pilot her through a noisy 
61 


THE SILENT BARRIER ' 

crowd of foreigners, and laughed with utmost cheer- 
fulness when they both failed to drink some extraor- 
dinarily hot coffee served in glasses that seemed to 
be hotter still. 

Helen had the rare distinction of being quite as 
bright and pleasing to the eye in the searching light 
of the sun’s first rays as at any other hour. Bower, 
though spruce and dandified, looked rather worn. 

“ I did not sleep well,” he explained. “ And the 
rails to the frontier on this line are the worst laid 
in Europe.” 

“ It is early yet,” she said. “ Why not turn in 
again when you reach your hotel.? ” 

“ Perish the thought ! ” he cried. “ I shall wander 
disconsolate by the side of the lake. Please say you 
will miss me at breakfast. And, by the way, you will 
find a table specially set apart for you. I suppose 
you change at Coire.? ” 

“ How kind and thoughtful you are. Yes, I am 
going to the Engadine, you know.” 

‘‘ Well, give my greetings to the high Alps. I have 
climbed most of them in my time. More improbable 
things have happened than that I may renew the 
acquaintance with some of my old friends this year. 
What fun if you and I met on the Matterhorn or 
Jungfrau! But they are far away from the valley 
of the inn, and perhaps you do not climb.” 

“ I have never had the opportunity ; but I mean 
to try. Moreover, it is part of my undertaking.” 

“ Then may we soon be tied to the same rope ! ” 

62 


•BECOME BETTER ACQUAINTED 

Thus they parted, with cheery words, and, orr 
Helen’s side, a genuine wish that they might renew 
a pleasant acquaintance. Bower waited on the plat- 
form to see the last of her as the train steamed 
away. 

“ Yes, it is worth while,” he muttered, when the 
white feathers on her hat were no longer visible. 
He did not go to the lake, but to the telegraph office, 
and there he wrote two long messages, which he re- 
vised carefully, and copied. Yet he frowned 
again, even while he was paying for their transmis- 
sion. Never before had he taken such pains to 
win any woman’s regard. And the knowledge vexed 
him, for the taking of pains was not his way witli 


women. 



CHAPTER IV 

HOW HELEN CAME TO MALOJA 

At Coire, or Chur, as the three-tongued Swiss 
often term it — German being the language most in 
vogue in Switzerland — Helen found a cheerful look- 
ing mountain train awaiting the coming of its heavy 
brother from far off Calais. It was soon packed 
to the doors, for those Alpine valleys hum with life 
and movement during the closing days of July. Even 
in the first class carriages nearly every seat was 
filled in a few minutes, while pandemonium reigned 
in the cheaper sections. 

Helen, having no cumbersome baggage to impede 
her movements, was swept in on the crest of the 
earliest wave, and obtained a corner near the cor- 
ridor. She meant to leave her handbag there, stroll 
up and down the station for a few minutes, mainly 
to look at the cosmopolitan crowd, and perhaps buy 
some fruit ; but the babel of English, German, French, 
04 . 


HOW HELEN CAME TO MALOJA 


and Italian, mixed with scraps of Russian and Czech, 
that raged round a distracted conductor warned her 
that the wiser policy was to sit still. 

An Englishwoman, red faced, elderly, and im- 
portant, was offered a center seat, facing the engine, 
in Helen’s compartment. She refused it. Her in- 
dignation was magnificent. To face the engine, she 
declared, meant instant illness. 

“ I never return to this wretched country that I 
do not regret it ! ” she shrilled. “ Have you no 
telegraphs Cannot your officials ascertain from 
Zurich how many English passengers may be ex- 
pected, and make suitable provision for them.? ” 

As this tirade was thrown away on the conductor, 
she proceeded to translate it into fairly accurate 
French; but the man was at his wits’ end to accom- 
modate the throng, and said so, with the breathless 
politeness that such a grande dame seemed to merit. 

‘‘ Then you should set apart a special train for 
passengers from England ! ” she declared vehemently. 
“ I shall never come here again — never ! The place 
is overrun with cheap tourists. Moreover, I shall 
tell all my friends to avoid Switzerland. Perhaps, 
when British patronage is withdrawn from your 
railways and hotels, you will begin to consider our 
requirements.” 

Helen felt that her irate fellow countrywoman was 
metaphorically hurling large volumes of the peer- 
age, baronetage, and landed gentry at the unhappy 
conductor’s head. Again he pointed out that there 
65 


THE SILENT BARRIER 


was a seat at madam’s service. When the train 
started he would do his best to secure another in 
the desired position. 

As the woman, whose proportions were generous, 
was blocking the gangway, she received a forcible 
reminder from the end of a heavy portmanteau that 
she must clear out of the way. Breathing dire re- 
prisals on the Swiss federal railway system, she en- 
tered unwillingly. 

“ Disgraceful ! ” she snorted. “ A nation of boors ! 
In another second I should have been thrown down 
and trampled on.” 

A stolid German and his wife occupied opposite 
corners, and the man probably wondered why the 
Englischer frau glared at him so fiercely. But he 
did not move. 

Helen, thinking to throw oil on the troubled waters, 
said pleasantly, “Won’t you change seats with me.^ 
I don’t mind whether I face the engine or not. In 
any case, I intend to stand in the corridor most of 
the time.” 

The stout woman, hearing herself addressed in 
English, lifted her mounted eyeglasses and stared at 
Helen. In one sweeping glance she took in details. 
As it happened, the girl had expended fifteen of 
her forty pounds on a neat tailor made costume, a 
smart hat, well fitting gloves, and the best pair of 
walking boots she could buy; for, having pretty 
feet, it was a pardonable vanity that she should wish 
them well shod. Apparently, the other was satisfied 
66 


HOW HELEN CAME TO MALOJA 


that there would be no loss of caste in accepting 
the proffered civility. 

“ Thank you. I am very much obliged,” she said. 
“ It is awfully sweet of you to incommode yourself 
for my sake.” 

It was difficult to believe that the woman who had 
just stormed at the conductor, who had the effrontery 
to subject Helen to that stony scrutiny before she 
answered, could adopt such dulcet tones so suddenly. 
Helen, frank and generous-minded to a degree, would 
have preferred a gradual subsidence of wrath to 
this remarkable volte-face. But she reiterated that 
she regarded her place in a carriage as of slight 
consequence, and the change was effected. 

The other adjusted her eyeglasses again, and 
passed in review the remaining occupants of the com- 
partment. They were foreigners,” whose existence 
might be ignored. 

“ This line grows worse each year,” she remarked, 
by way of a conversational opening. “ It is horrid 
traveling alone. Unfortunately, I missed my son 
at Lucerne. Are your people on the train ” 

“ No. I too am alone.” 

“ Ah ! Going to St. Moritz ? ” 

‘‘ Yes; but I take the diligence there for Maloja.” 

‘‘ The diligence! Who in the world advised that? 
Nobody ever travels that way.” 

By “ nobody,” she clearly conveyed the idea that 
she mixed in the sacred circle of “ somebodies,” car- 
riage folk to the soles of their boots, because Helen’s 
67 


THE SILENT BARRIER 


guidebook showed that a diligence ran twice daily 
through the Upper Engadine, and the Swiss authori- 
ties would not provide those capacious four-horsed 
vehicles unless there were passengers to fill them. 

“ Oh ! ” cried Helen. “ Should I have ordered a 
carriage beforehand.^ ” 

“ Most decidedly. But your friends will send one. 
They know you are coming by this train ” 

Helen smiled. She anticipated a certain amount 
of cross examination at the hands of residents in the 
hotel; but she saw no reason why the ordeal should 
begin so soon. 

“ I must take my luck then,” she said. “ There 
ought to be plenty of carriages at St. Moritz.” 

Without being positively rude, her new acquaint- 
ance could not repeat the question thus shirked. But 
she had other shafts in her quiver. 

“You will stay at the Kursaal, of course.?^” she 
said. 

“ Yes.” 

“ A passing visit, or for a period.?^ I ask because 
I am going there myself.” 

“ Oh, how nice ! I am glad I have met you. I 
mean to remain at Maloja until the end of August.” 

“ Quite the right time. The rest of Switzerland 
is unbearable in August. You will find the hotel 
rather full. The Burnham- Joneses are there, — the 
tennis players, you know, — and General and Mrs. 
Wragg and their family, and the de la Veres, nomi- 
nally husband and wife, — a most charming couple 
68 


HOW HELEN CAME TO MALOJA 

individually. Have you met the de la Veres? No? 
Well, don’t be unhappy on Edith’s account if Regi- 
nald flirts with you. She likes it.” 

“ But perhaps I might not like it,” laughed 
Helen. 

“ Ah, Reginald has such fascinating manners ! ” 
A sigh seemed to deplore the days of long ago, when 
Reginald’s fascination might have displayed itself 
on her account. 

Again there was a break in the flow of talk, and 
Helen began to take an interest in the scenery. Not 
to be balked, her inquisitor searched in a portmormaie 
attached to her left wrist with a strap, and pro- 
duced a card. 

“ We may as well know each other’s names,” she 
cooed affably. “ Here is my card.” 

Helen read, “ Mrs. H. de Courcy Vavasour, Villa 
Menini, Nice.” 

“ I am sorry,” she said, with a friendly smile 
that might have disarmed prejudice, “ but in the 
hurry of my departure from London I packed my 
cards in my registered baggage. My name is Helen 
Wynton.” 

The eyeglasses went up once more. 

“ Do you spell it with an I ? Are you one of the 
Gloucestershire Wintons? ” 

“ No. I live in town ; but my home is in Norfolk.” 

And whose party will you join at the Maloja? ” 

Helen colored a little under this rigorous heckling. 
“ As I have already told you, Mrs. Vavasour, I am 
69 


THE SILENT BARRIER 


alone,” she said. “ Indeed, I have come here to — to 
do some literary work.” 

“ For a newspaper ? ” 

“ Yes.” 

Mrs. Vavasour received this statement guardedly. 
If Helen was on the staff of an important journal 
there was something to be gained by being cited in 
her articles as one of the important persons ‘‘ so- 
journing” in the Engadine. 

“ It is really wonderful,” she admitted, “ how en- 
terprising the great daily papers are nowadays.” 

Helen, very new to a world of de Courcy Vava- 
sours, and Wraggs, and Burnham- Joneses, forgave 
this hawklike pertinacity for sake of the apparent 
sympathy of her catechist. And she was painfully 
candid. 

“ The weekly paper I represent is not at all well 
known,” she explained ; “ but here I am, and I mean 
to enjoy my visit hugely. It is the chance of a life- 
time to be sent abroad on such a mission. I little 
dreamed a week since that I should be able to visit 
this beautiful country under the best conditions with- 
out giving a thought to the cost.” 

Poor Helen ! Had she delved in many volumes to 
obtain material that would condemn her in the eyes 
of the tuft hunter she was addressing, she could not 
have shocked so many conventions in so few words. 
She was poor, unknown, unfriended! Worse than 
these negative defects, she was positively attractive! 
Mrs. Vavasour almost shuddered as she thought of 
70 


HOW HELEN CAME TO MALOJA 


the son missed ” at Lucerne, the son who would 
arrive at Maloja on the morrow, in the company of 
someone whom he preferred to his mother as a fellow 
traveler. What a pitfall she had escaped! She 
might have made a friend of this impossible person ! 
Nevertheless, rendered wary by many social skir- 
mishes, she did not declare war at once. The girl 
was too outspoken to be an adventuress. She must 
wait, and watch, and furbish her weapons. 

Helen, whose brain was nimble enough to take 
in some of Mrs. Vavasour’s limitations, hoped that 
the preliminary inquiry into her caste was ended. 
She went into the corridor. A man made room for 
her with an alacrity that threatened an attempt to 
draw her into conversation, so she moved somewhat 
farther away, and gave herself to thought. If this 
prying woman was a fair sample of the people in the 
hotel, it was obvious that the human element in the 
high Alps held a suspicious resemblance to society in 
Bayswater, where each street is a faction and the 
clique in the ‘‘ Terrace ” is not on speaking terms 
with the clique in the ‘‘ Gardens.” Thus far, she 
owned to a feeling of disillusionment in many 
respects. 

Two years earlier, a naturalist in the Highlands 
had engaged von Eulenberg to classify his collec- 
tion, and Helen had gone to Inverness with the pro- 
fessor’s family. She saw something then of the 
glories of Scotland, and her memories of the puT^ple 
hills, the silvery lakes, the joyous burns tumbling 

71 


THE SILENT BARRIER 

headlong through woodland and pasture, were not 
dimmed by the dusty garishness of the Swiss scenery. 
True, Baedeker said that these pent valleys were 
suffocating in midsummer. She could only await 
in diminished confidence her first glimpse of the 
eternal snows. 

And again, the holiday makers were not the blithe- 
some creatures of her imagination. Some were read- 
ing, many sleeping, and the rest, for the most part, 
talking in strange tongues of anything but the 
beauties of the landscape. The Britons among them 
seemed to be brooding on glaciers. A party of lively 
Americans were playing bridge, and a scrap of gossip 
in English from a neighboring compartment revealed 
that some woman who went to a dance at Montreux, 
“ wore a cheap voile, my dear, a last year’s bargain, 
aU crumpled and dirty. You never saw such a 
fright ! ” 

These things were trivial and commonplace; a 
wide gap opened between them and Helen’s day 
dreams of Alpine travel. By natural sequence of 
ideas she began to contrast her present loneliness 
with yesterday’s pleasant journey, and the outcome 
was eminently favorable to Mark Bower. She missed 
him. She was quite sure, had he accompanied her 
from Zurich, that he would have charmed away the 
dull hours with amusing anecdotes. Instead of feel- 
ing rather tired and sleepy, she would now be listen- 
ing to his apt expositions of the habits and customs 
of the places and people seen from the carriage win- 
72 


HOW HELEN CAIVIE TO MALOJA 


dows. For fully five minutes her expressive mouth 
betrayed a little moue of disappointment. 

And then the train climbed a long spiral which 
gave a series of delightful views of a picturesque 
Swiss village, — exactly such a cluster of low roofed 
houses as she had admired many a time in photo- 
graphs of Alpine scenery. An exclamation from a 
little boy who clapped his hands in ecstasy caused 
her to look through a cleft in the nearer hills. With 
a thrill of wonder she discovered there, remote and 
solitary, all garbed in shining white, a majestic snow 
capped mountain. Ah ! this was the real Switzerland ! 
Her heart throbbed, and her breath came in flutter- 
ing gasps of excitement. How mean and trivial 
were class distinctions in sight of nature’s no- 
bility! She was uplifted, inspirited, filled with a 
sedate happiness. She wanted to voice her gladness 
as the child had done. A high pitched female voice 
said: 

“ Of course I had to call, because Jack meets her 
husband in the city ; but it is an awful bore knowing 
such people.” 

Then the train plunged into a noisome tunnel, and 
turned a complete circle in the heart of the rock, and 
when it panted into daylight again the tall square 
tower of the village church had sunk more deeply 
into the valley. Far beneath, two bright steel rib- 
bons — swallowed by a cavernous mouth that belched 
clouds of dense smoke — showed the strangeness of 
the route that led to the silent peaks. At times the 
73 


THE SILENT BARRIER 


rails crossed or ran by the side of a white, tree lined 
track that mounted ever upward. Though she could 
not recall the name of the pass, Helen was aware that 
^his was one of the fine mountain roads for which 
Switzerland is famous. Pedestrians, singly or in 
small parties, were trudging along sturdily. They 
seemed to be mostly German tourists, jolly, well fed 
folk, nearly as many women as men, each one carry- 
ing a rucksack and alpenstock, and evidently deter- 
mined to cover a set number of kilometers before 
night. 

“ That is the way in which I should like to see 
the Alps,” thought Helen. “ I am sure they sing 
as they walk, and they miss nothing of the grandeur 
and exquisite coloring of the hills. A train is very 
comfortable; but it certainly brings to these quiet 
valleys a great many people who would otherwise 
never come near them.” 

The force of this trite reflection was borne in on 
her by a loud wrangle between the bridge players. 
A woman had revoked, and was quite wroth with the 
man who detected her mistake. 

At the next stopping place Helen bought some 
chocolates, and made a friend of the boy, a tiny 
Parisian. The two found amusement in searching 
for patches of snow on the northerly sides of the 
nearest hills. Once they caught a glimpse of a 
whole snowy range, and they shrieked so enthusias- 
tically that the woman whose husband was also 
in the city glanced at them with disapproval, as 

74 < 


HOW HELEN CAME TO MALOJA 


they interrupted a full and particular if not true 
account of the quarrel between the Firs and the 
Limes. 

At last the panting engine gathered speed and 
rushed along a wide valley into Samaden, Celerina, 
and St. Moritz. Mrs. Vavasour seemed to be ab- 
sorbed in a Tauchnitz novel till the last moment, and 
the next sight of her vouchsafed to Helen was her 
departure from the terminus in solitary state in a 
pair-horse victoria. It savored somewhat of unkind- 
ness that she had not offered to share the roomy 
vehicle with one who had befriended her. 

“ Perhaps she was afraid I might not pay my share 
of the hire,” said Helen to herself rather indignantly. 
But a civil hotel porter helped her to clear the cus- 
toms shed rapidly, secured a comfortable carriage, 
advised her confidentially as to the amount that 
should be paid, and promised to telephone to the 
hotel for a suitable room. She was surprised to find 
how many of her fellow passengers were bound for 
Maloja. Some she had encountered at various stages 
of the journey all the way from London, while many, 
like Mrs. Vavasour, had joined the train in Switzer- 
land. She remembered too, with a quiet humor that 
had in it a spice of sarcasm, that her elderly ac- 
quaintance had not come from England, and had no 
more right to demand special accommodation at 
Coire than the dozens of other travelers who put in 
an appearance at each station after Basle. 

She noticed that as soon as the luggage was handed 

75 


THE SILENT BARRIER 


to the driver to be strapped behind each vehicle, the 
newcomers nearly all went to a neighboring hotel for 
luncheon. Being a healthy young person, and en- 
dowed with a sound digestion, Helen deemed this 
example too good not to be followed. Then she 
began a two hours’ drive through a valley that al- 
most shook her allegiance to Scotland. The driver, 
a fine looking old man, with massive features and 
curling gray hair that reminded her of Michelan- 
gelo’s head of Moses, knowing the nationality of his 
fare, resolutely refused to speak any other language 
than English. He would jerk round, flourish his 
whip, and cry: 

“ Dissa pless St. Moritz Bad ; datta pless St. 
Moritz Dorp.” 

Soon he announced the “ Engelish kirch,” thereby 
meaning the round arched English church overlook- 
ing the lake; or it might be, with a loftier sweep of 
the whip, “ Piz Julier montin, mit lek Silvaplaner 
See.” 

All this Helen could have told him with equal 
accuracy and even greater detail. Had she not 
almost learned by heart each line of Baedeker on 
the Upper Engadine.? Could she not have repro- 
duced from memory a fairly complete map of the 
valley, with its villages, mountains, and lakes clearly 
marked.^ But she would not on any account re- 
press the man’s enthusiasm, and her eager acceptance 
of his quaint information induced fresh efforts, with 
more whip waving. 


76 


HOW HELEN CAME TO MALOJA 


‘‘ Piz Corvatsch ! Him ver’ big fellow. Twelf 
t’ousen foots. W’en me guide him bruk ze leg.” 

She had seen that he was very lame as he hobbled 
about the carriage tying up her boxes. So here was 
a real guide. That explained his romantic aspect, 
his love of the high places. And he had been maimed 
for life by that magnificent mountain whose scarred 
slopes were now vividly before her eyes. The bright 
sunshine lit lakes and hills with its glory. A mar- 
velous atmosphere made all things visible with micro- 
scopic fidelity. From Campfer to Silvaplana looked 
to be a ten minutes’ drive, and from Silvaplana to 
Sils-Maria another quarter of an hour. Helen had 
to consult her watch and force herself to admit that 
the horses were trotting fully seven miles an hour 
before she realized that distances could be so decep- 
tive. The summit of the lordly Corvatsch seemed 
to be absurdly near. She judged it within the scope 
of an easy walk between breakfast and afternoon 
tea from the hotel on a tree covered peninsula that 
stretched far out into Lake Sils-Maria, and she won- 
dered why anyone should fall and break his leg 
during such a simple climb. Just to make sure, she 
glanced at the guidebook, and it gave her a shock 
when she saw the words, “ Guides necessary,” — 
“ Descent to Sils practicable only for experts,” — 
Spend night at Roseg Inn,” — the route followed 
being that from Pontresina. 

Then she recollected that the lovely valley she 
was traversing from beginning to end was itself six 

77 


THE SILENT BARRIER 


thousand feet above sea level, — that the observatory 
on rugged old Ben Nevis, which she had visited when 
in Scotland, was, metaphorically speaking, two thou- 
sand feet beneath the smooth road along which she 
was being driven, and that the highest peak on 
Corvatsch was still six thousand feet above her head. 
All at once, Helen felt subdued. The fancy seized 
her that the carriage was rumbling over the roof 
of the world. In a word, she was yielding to the 
exhilaration of high altitudes, and her brain was 
ready to spin wild fantasies. 

At Sils-Maria she was brought suddenly to earth 
again. It must not be forgotten that her driver was 
a St. Moritz man, and therefore at constant feud 
with the men from the Kursaal, who brought empty 
carriages to St. Moritz, and went back laden with 
the spoil that would otherwise have fallen to the 
share of the local livery stables. Hence, he made it 
a point of honor to pass every Maloja owned vehicle 
on the road. Six times he succeeded, but, on the 
seventh, reversing the moral of Bruce’s spider, he 
smashed the near hind wheel by attempting to slip 
between a landau and a stone post. Helen was almost 
thrown into the lake, and, for the life of her, she 
could not repress a scream. But the danger passed 
as rapidly as it had risen, and all that happened was 
that the carriage settled down lamely by the side 
of the road, with its weight resting on one of her 
boxes. 

The driver spoke no more English. He bewailed 

78 


HOW HELEN CAME TO MALOJA 

his misfortune in free and fluent Italian of the 
Romansch order. 

But he understood German, and when Helen de- 
manded imperatively that he should unharness the 
horses, and help to prop the carriage off a crumpled 
tin trunk that contained her best dresses, he recov- 
ered his senses, worked willingly, and announced with 
a weary grin that if the gnddische frd/ulein would 
wait a little half-hour he would obtain another wheel 
from a neighboring forge. 

Having recovered from her fright she was so 
touched by the poor fellow’s distress that she prom- 
ised readily to stand by him until repairs were 
effected. It was a longer job than either of them 
anticipated. The axle was slightly bent, and a black- 
smith had to bring clamps and a jackscrew before 
the new wheel could be adjusted. Even then it had 
an air of uncertainty that rendered speed impossible. 
The concluding flve miles of the journey were taken 
at a snail’s pace, and Helen reflected ruefully that 
it was possible to ‘‘ bruk ze leg ” on the level high 
road as well as on the rocks of Corvatsch. 

Of course, she received offers of assistance in 
plenty. Every carriage that passed while the black- 
smith was at work pulled up and placed a seat therein 
at her command. But she refused them all. It was 
not that she feared to desert her baggage, for Switzer- 
land is proverbially honest. The unlucky driver had 
tried to be friendly ; his fault was due to an excess of 
zeal; and each time she declined the proffered help 

79 


THE SILENT BARRIER 


his furrowed face brightened. If she did not reach 
the hotel until midnight she was determined to go 
there in that vehicle, and in none other. 

The accident threw her late, but only by some 
two hours. Instead of arriving at Maloja in brilliant 
sunshine, it was damp and chilly when she entered 
the hotel. A bank of mist had been carried over 
the summit of the pass by a southwesterly wind. 
Long before the carriage crawled round the last great 
bend in the road the glorious panorama of lake and 
mountains was blotted out of sight. The horses 
seemed to be jogging on through a luminous cloud, 
so dense that naught was visible save a few yards of 
roadway and the boundary wall or stone posts on 
the left side, where lay the lake. The brightness 
soon passed, as the hurrying fog wraiths closed in 
on each other. It became bitterly cold too, and it 
was with intense gladness that Helen finally stepped 
from the outer gloom into a glass haven of warmth 
and light that formed a species of covered-in veranda 
in front of the hotel. 

She was about to pay the driver, having added 
to the agreed sum half the cost of the broken wheel 
by way of a solatium, when another carriage drove 
up from the direction of St. Moritz. 

She fancied that the occupant, a young man whom 
she had never seen before, glanced at her as though 
he knew her. She looked again to make sure; but 
by that time his eyes were turned away, so he had 
evidently discovered his mistake. Still, he seemed to 
80 



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A SCENE FROM THE PHOTOPLAY— THE SILENT BARRIER. 




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HOW HELEN CAME TO MALOJA 


take considerable interest in her carriage, and Helen, 
ever ready to concede the most generous interpreta- 
tion of doubtful acts, assumed that he had heard of 
the accident by some means, and was on the lookout 
for her. 

It would indeed have been a fortunate thing for 
Helen had some Swiss fairy whispered the news of 
her mishap in Spencer’s ears during the long drive 
up the mist laden valley. Then, at least, he might 
have spoken to her, and used the informal introduc- 
tion to make her further acquaintance on the morrow. 
But the knowledge was withheld from him. No hint 
of it was even flashed through space by that wireless 
telegraphy which has existed between kin souls ever 
since men and women contrived to raise human affini- 
ties to a plane not far removed from the divine. 

He had small store of German, but he knew enough 
to be perplexed by the way in which Helen’s driver 
expressed “ beautiful thanks ” for her gift. The man 
seemed to be at once grateful and downhearted. Of 
course, the impression was of the slightest, but Spen- 
cer had been trained in reaching vital conclusions 
on meager evidence. He could not wait to listen to 
Helen’s words, so he passed into the hotel, having 
the American habit of leaving the care of his baggage 
to the haU porter. He wondered why Helen was so 
late in arriving that he had caught her up on the 
very threshold of the Kursaal, so to speak. He 
would not forget the driver’s face, and if he met the 
man again, it might be possible to find out the cause 
81 


THE SILENT BARRIER 


of the delay. He himself was before time. The 
federal railway authorities at Coire, awaking to the 
fact that the holiday rush was beginning, had actu- 
ally dispatched a relief train to St. Moritz when the 
second important train of the day turned up as full 
as its predecessor. 

At dinner Helen and he sat at little tables in the 
same section of the huge dining hall. The hotel was 
nearly full, and it was noticeable that they were the 
only persons who dined alone. Indeed, the head 
waiter asked Spencer if he cared to join a party of 
men who sat together; but he declined. There was 
no such general gathering of women ; so Helen was 
given no alternative, and she ate the meal in silence. 

She saw Mrs. Vavasour in a remote part of the 
salon. With her was a vacuous looking young man 
who seldom spoke to her but was continually address- 
ing remarks to a woman at another table. 

“ That is the son lost at Lucerne,” she decided, 
finding in his face some of the physical traits but 
none of the calculating shrewdness of his mother. 

After a repast of many courses Helen wandered 
into the great hall, found an empty chair, and longed 
for someone to speak to. At the first glance, every- 
body seemed to know everybody else. That was not 
really the case, of course. There were others present 
as neglected and solitary as Helen; but the noise 
and merriment of the greater number dominated the 
place. It resembled a social club rather than a hotel. 

Her chair was placed in an alley along which 


HOW HELEN CAME TO MALOJA 


people had to pass who wished to reach the glass 
covered veranda. She amused herself by trying to 
pick out the Wraggs, the Burnham- Joneses, and the 
de la Veres. Suddenly she was aware that Mrs. 
Vavasour and her son were coming that way; the 
son unwillingly, the mother with an air of determina- 
tion. Perhaps the Lucerne episode was about to be 
explained. 

When young Vavasour’s eyes fell on Helen, the 
boredom vanished from his face. It was quite ob- 
vious that he called his mother’s attention to her 
and asked who she was. Helen felt that an intro- 
duction was imminent. She was glad of it. At that 
moment she would have chatted gayly with even a 
greater ninny than George de Courcy Vavasour. 

But she had not yet grasped the peculiar idiosyn- 
crasies of a woman who was famous for snubbing 
those whom she considered to be “ undesirables.” 
Helen looked up with a shy smile, expecting that the 
older woman would stop and speak; but Mrs. Vava- 
sour gazed at her blankly — looked at the back of 
her chair through her body — and walked on. 

“ I don’t know, George,” Helen heard her say. 

There are a lot of new arrivals. Some person of 
no importance, rather declassee, I should imagine 
by appearances. As I was telling you, the General 
has arranged ” 

Taken altogether, Helen had crowded into por- 
tions of two days many new and some very un- 
pleasant experiences. 


83 



CHAPTER V 

AN INTEEIiUDE 

Helen rose betimes next morning; but she found 
that the sun had kept an earlier tryst. Not a cloud 
marred a sky of dazzling blue. The phantom mist 
had gone with the shadows. From her bed room 
window she could see the whole length of the Ober- 
Engadin, till the view was abruptly shut olF by the 
giant shoulders of Lagrev and Rosatch. The bril- 
liance of the coloring was the landscape’s most as- 
tounding feature. The lakes were planes of polished 
turquoise, the rocks pure grays and browns and reds, 
^the meadows emerald green, while the shining white 
patches of snow on the highest mountain slopes 
helped to blacken by contrast the somber clumps 
of pines that gathered thick wherever man had not 
disputed with the trees the tenancy of each foot of 
meager loam. 

This morning glory of nature gladdened the girl’s 

84j 


AN INTERLUDE 


heart and drove from it the overnight vapors. She 
dressed hurriedly, made a light breakfast, and went 
out. 

There was no need to ask the way. In front of 
the hotel the narrow Silser See filled the valley. Close 
behind lay the crest of the pass. A picturesque 
chateau was perched on a sheer rock overhanging 
the Vale of Bregaglia and commanding a far flung 
prospect almost to the brink of Como. On both 
sides rose the mountain barriers; but toward the 
east there was an inviting gorge, beyond which the 
lofty Cima di Rosso flung its eternal snows heaven- 
ward. 

A footpath led in that direction. Helen, who 
prided herself on her sense of locality, decided that 
it would bring her to the valley in which were situ- 
ated, as she learned by the map, a small lake and 
a glacier. 

That will be a fine walk before lunch,” she said, 
‘‘ and it is quite impossible to lose the way.” 

So she set off, crossing the hotel golf course, and 
making for a typical Swiss church that crowned the 
nearest of the foothills. Passing the church, she 
found the double doors in the porch open, and peeped 
in. It was a cozy little place, cleaner and less garish 
than such edifices are usually on the Continent. The 
lamp burning before the sanctuary showed that it 
was devoted to Roman Catholic worship. The red 
gleam of the tiny sentinel conveyed a curiously vivid 
impression of faith and spirituality. Though Helen 
85 


THE SILENT BARRIER 


was a Protestant, she was conscious of a beni^ 
emotion arising from the presence of this simple 
token of belief. 

“ I must ascertain the hours of service,” she 
thought. “ It will be dehghtful to join the Swiss 
peasants in prayer. One might come near the Crea- 
tor in this rustic tabernacle.” 

She did not cross the threshold of the inner door. 
At present her mind was fixed on brisk movement in 
the marvelous air. She wanted to absorb the sun- 
shine, to dispel once and for all the unpleasing picture 
of life in the high Alps presented by the stupid crowd 
she had met in the hotel overnight. Of course, she 
was somewhat unjust there; but women are predis- 
posed to trust first impressions, and Helen was no 
exception to her sex. 

Beyond the church the path was not so definite. 
Oddly enough, it seemed to go along the flat top of 
a low wall down to a tiny mountain stream. Steps 
were cut in the opposite hillside, but they were 
little used, and higher up, among some dwarf pines 
and azaleas, a broader way wound back toward 
the few scattered chalets that nestled under the 
chateau. 

As the guidebook spoke of a carriage road to Lake 
Cavloccio, and a bridle path thence to within a mile 
of the Fomo glacier, she came to the conclusion 
that she was taking a short cut. At any rate, on 
the summit of the next little hill she would be able 
to see her way quite distinctly, so she jumped across 
86 


AN INTERLUDE 


the brook and climbed through the undergrowth. 
Before she had gone twenty yards she stopped. She 
was almost certain that someone was sobbing bitterly 
up there among the trees. It had an uncanny sound, 
this plaint of grief in such a quiet, sunlit spot. Still, 
sorrow was not an affrighting thing to Helen. It 
might stir her sympathies, but it assuredly could not 
drive her away in panic. 

She went on, not noiselessly, as she did not wish 
to intrude on some stranger’s misery. Soon she came 
to a low wall, and, before she quite realized her sur- 
roundings, she was looking into a grass grown ceme- 
tery. It was a surprise, this ambush of the silent 
company among the trees. Hidden away from the 
outer world, and so secluded that its whereabouts 
remain unknown to thousands of people who visit 
the Maloja each summer, there was an aspect of 
stealth in its sudden discovery that was almost 
menacing. But Helen was not a nervous subject. 
The sobbing had ceased, and when the momentary 
effect of such a depressing environment had been 
resolutely driven off, she saw that a rusty iron gate 
was open. The place was very small. There were 
a few monuments, so choked with weeds and dank 
grass that their inscriptions were illegible. She had 
never seen a more desolate graveyard. Despite the 
vivid light and the joyous breeze rustling the pine 
branches, its air of abandonment was depressing. 
She fought against the sensation as unworthy of her 
intelligence; but she had some reason for it in the 


THE SILENT BARRIER 


fact that there was no visible explanation of the 
mourning she had undoubtedly heard. 

Then she uttered an involuntary cry, for a man’s 
head and shoulders rose from behind a leafy shrub. 
Instantly she was ashamed of her fear. It was the 
old guide who acted as coachman the previous even- 
ing, and he had been lying face downward on the 
grass in that part of the cemetery given over to 
the unnamed dead. 

He recognized her at once. Struggling awkwardly 
io his feet, he said in broken and halting German, 

I pray your forgiveness, fraulein. I fear I have 
3^1armed you.” 

“ It is I who should ask forgiveness,” she said. 
*'1 came here by accident. I thought I could go 
t^j Cavloccio by this path.” 

She could have hit on no other words so well cal- 
culjited to bring him back to every day life. To 
direct the steps of wanderers in his beloved Engadine 
was a real pleasure to him. For an instant he for- 
got that they had both spoken German. 

“ No, no ! ” he cried animatedly. ‘‘ For lek him 
go by village. Bad road dissa way. No cross ze 
field. Verhoten! ” 

Then Helen remembered that trespassers are 
sternly warned off the low lying lands in the moun- 
tains. Grass is scarce and valuable. Until the high- 
est pastures yield to the arid rock, pedestrians must 
keep to the beaten track. 

I was quite mistaken,” she said. 

88 


“ I see now 


AN INTERLUDE 


that the path I was trying to reach leads here only. 
And I am very, very sorry I disturbed you.” 

He hobbled nearer, the ruin of a fine man, with a 
nobly proportioned head and shoulders, but sadly 
maimed by the accident which, to aU appearances, 
made him useless as a guide. 

“ Pardon an old man’s folly, frdidem” he said 
humbly. “ I thought none could hear, and I felt the 
loss of my little girl more than ever to-day.” 

“ Your daughter.^ Is she buried here.^^ ” 

“ Yes. Many a year has passed ; but I miss her 
now more than ever. She was all I had in the world, 
frdulem. I am alone now, and that is a hard thing 
when the back is bent with age.” 

Helen’s eyes grew moist; but she tried bravely to 
control her voice. “ Was she young.? ” she asked 
softly. 

“ Only twenty, frdulem^ only twenty, and as tall 
and fair as yourself. They carried her here sixteen 
years ago this very da3\ I did not even see her. On 
the previous night I fell on Corvatsch.” 

“ Oh, how sad! But why did she die at that age.? 
And in this splendid climate.? Was her death un- 
expected ? ” 

“ Unexpected ! ” He turned and looked at the 
huge mountain of which the cemetery hill formed 
one of the lowermost buttresses. “ If the Piz della 
Margna were to topple over and crush me where I 
stand, it would be less unforeseen than was my sweet 
Etta’s fate. But I frighten you, lady, — a poor re- 

89 


THE SILENT BARRIER 


turn for your kindness. That is your way, — through 
the village, and by the postroad till you reach a 
notice board telling you where to take the path.” 

There was a crude gentility in his manner that 
added to the pathos of his words. Helen was sure 
that he wished to be left alone with his memories. 
Yet she lingered. 

‘‘ Please tell me your name,” she said. “ I may 
visit St. Moritz while I remain here, and I shall try 
to find you.” 

“ Christian Stampa,” he said. He seemed to be 
on the point of adding something, but checked him- 
self. “ Christian Stampa,” he repeated, after a 
pause. “ Everybody knows old Stampa the guide. 
If I am not there, and you go to Zermatt some day — 
well, just ask for Stampa. They will tell you what 
has become of me.” 

She found it hard to reconcile this broken, care- 
worn old man with her cheery companion of the 
previous afternoon. What did he mean ? She under- 
stood his queer jargon of Italianized German quite 
clearly; but there was a sinister ring in his words 
that blanched her face. She could not leave him in 
his present mood. She was more alarmed now than 
when she saw him rising ghostlike from behind the 
screen of grass and weeds. 

“ Please walk with me to the village,” she said. 

All this beautiful land is strange to me. It will 
divert your thoughts from a mournful topic if you 
teU me something of its wonders.” 

90 


AN INTERLUDiU 


He looked at her for an instant. Then his eyes, 
fell on the church in the neighboring hollow, and 
he crossed himself, murmuring a few words in Italian. 
She guessed their meaning. He was thanking the 
Virgin for having sent to his rescue a girl who re- 
minded him of his lost Etta. 

‘‘ Yes,” he said, “ I will come. If I were remaining 
in the Maloja, frazdeiriy 1 would beg you to let me 
take you to the Fomo, and perhaps to one of the 
peaks beyond. Old as I am, and lame, you would 
be safe with me.” 

Helen breathed freely again. She felt that she 
had been within measurable distance of a tragedy. 
Nor was there any call on her wits to devise fresh 
means of drawing his mind away from the madness 
that possessed him a few minutes earlier. As he 
limped unevenly by her side, his talk was of the moun- 
tains. Did she intend to climb.? Well, slow and 
si5re was the golden rule. Do little or nothing during 
four or five days, until she had grown accustomed to 
the thin and keen Alpine air. Then go to Lake 
Lunghino, — that would suffice for the first real ex- 
cursion. Next day, she ought to start early, and 
climb the mountain overlooking that same lake, — 
up there, on the other side of the hotel, — all rock and 
not difficult. If the weather was clear, she would 
have a grand view of the Bernina range. Next she 
might try the Fomo glacier. It was a simple thing. 
She could go to and from the cahane in ten hours. 
Afterward, the Cima di Rosso offered an easy climb;. 
91 


THE SELENT BARRIER 


but that meant sleeping at the hut. All of which 
was excellent advice, though the reflection came that 
Stampa’s “ slow and sure ” methods were not strongly 
in evidence some sixteen hours earlier. 

Now, the Cima di Rosso was in full view at that 
instant. Helen stopped. 

“ Do you really mean to tell me that if I wish to 
reach the top of that mountain, I must devote two 
days to it.^ ” she cried. 

Stampa, though bothered with troubles beyond 
her ken, forgot them sufficiently to laugh grimly. 
“ It is farther away than you seem to think, frdulein; 
but the real difficulty is the ice. Unless you cross 
some of the crevasses in the early morning, before 
the sun has had time to undo the work accomplished 
by the night’s frost, you run a great risk. And that 
is why you must be ready to start from the cahane 
at dawn. Moreover, at this time of year, you get 
the finest view about six o’clock.” 

The mention of crevasses was somewhat awesome. 
‘‘ Is it necessary to be roped when one tries that 
climb ? ” she asked. 

“ If any guide ever tells you that you need not 
be roped while crossing ice or climbing rock, turn 
^ back at once, frdvlein. Wait for another day, and 
go with a man who knows his business. That is how 
the Alps get a bad name for accidents. Look at 
me! I have climbed the Matterhorn forty times, 
and the Jungfrau times out of count, and never did 
I or anyone in my care come to grief. ‘ Use the rope 
92 


AN INTERLUDE 


properly,’ is my motto, and it has never failed me, 
not even when two out of five of us were struck 
senseless by falling stones on the south side of 
Monte Rosa.” 

Helen experienced another thrill. “ I very much 
object to falling stones,” she said. 

Stampa threw out his hands in emphatic gesture. 
“ What can one do ? ” he cried. “ They are always 
a danger, like the snow comice and the neve. There 
is a chimney on the Jungfrau through which stones 
are constantly shooting from a height of two thou- 
sand feet. You cannot see them, — they travel too 
fast for the eye. You hear sometliing sing past your 
ears, that is all. Occasionally there is a report like 
a gunshot, and then you observe a little cloud of 
dust rising from a new scar on a rock. If you are 
hit — well, there is no dust, because the stone goes 
right through. Of course one does not loiter 
there.” 

Then, seeing the scared look on her face, he went 
on. “ Ladies should not go to such places. It is 
not fit. But for men, yes. There is the joy of battle. 
Do not err, frdideiny — the mountains are alive. And 
they fight to the death. They can be beaten; but 
there must be no mistakes. They are like strong 
men, the hills. When you strive against them, strain 
them to your breast and never relax your grip. Then 
they yield slowly, with many a trick and false ndove 
that a man must learn if he would look down over 
them all and say, ‘ I am lord here.’ Ah me ! Shall 

93 


THE SILENT BARRIER 


I ever again cross the Col du Lion or climb the 
Great Tower? But there! I am old, and thrown 
aside. Boys whom I engaged as porters would re- 
fuse me now as their porter. Better to have died 
like my friend, Michel Croz, than live to be a goat- 
herd.” 

He seemed to pull himself up with an effort. 
“ That way — to your left — you cannot miss the 
path. Addio, signorina,^' and he lifted his hat with 
the inborn grace of the peasantry of Southern 
Europe. 

Helen was hoping that he might elect to accom- 
pany her to Cavloccio. She would willingly have 
paid him for loss of time. Her ear was becoming 
better tuned each moment to his strange patois. 
Though he often gave a soft Italian inflection to 
the harsh German syllables, she grasped his meaning 
quite literally. She had read so much about Switzer- 
land that she knew how Michel Croz was killed while 
descending the Matterhorn after having made the 
first ascent. That historic accident happened long 
before she was born. To hear a man speak of Croz 
as a friend sounded almost unbelievable, though a 
moment’s thought told her that Whymper, who led 
the attack on the hitherto impregnable Cervin on 
that July day in 1865, was still living, a keen 
Alpinist. 

She could not refrain from asking Stampa one 
question, though she imagined that he was now in 
a hurry to take the damaged carriage back to St. 
94 


AN INTERLUDE 


Moritz. ‘‘ Michel Croz was a brave man,” she said. 
“ Did you know him well? ” 

“ I worshiped him, frdulem'^ was the reverent an- 
swer. “ May I receive pardon in my last hour, but 
I took him for an evil spirit on the day of his death 1 
I was with Jean Antoine Carrel in Signor Giordano’s 
party. We started from Breuil, Croz and his voy- 
ageurs from Zermatt. We failed; he succeeded. 
When we saw him and his Englishmen on the summit, 
we believed they were devils, because they yelled in 
triumph, and started an avalanche of stones to an- 
nounce their victory. Three days later, Carrel and 
I, with two men from Breuil, tried again. We gained 
the top that time, and passed the place where Croz 
was knocked over by the English milord and the 
others who fell with him. I saw three bodies on the 
glacier four thousand feet below, — a fine burial- 
ground, better than that up there.” 

He looked back at the pines which now hid the 
cemetery wall from sight. Then, with another cour- 
teous sweep of his hat, he walked away, covering the 
ground rapidly despite his twisted leg. 

If Helen had been better trained as a woman 
journalist, she would have regarded this meeting with 
Stampa as an incident of much value. Long experi- 
ence of the lights and shades of life might have ren- 
dered her less sensitive. As it was, the man’s per- 
sonality appealed to her. She had been vouchsafed 
a glimpse into an abyss profound as that into which 
Stampa himself peered on the day he discovered 
95 


THE SILENT BARRIER 


three of the four who fell from the Matterhorn still 
roped together in death. The old man’s simple refer- 
ences to the terrors lurking in those radiant moun- 
tains had also shaken her somewhat. The snow 
capped Cima di Rosso no longer looked so attractive. 
The Orlegna Gorge had lost some of its beauty. 
Though the sun was pouring into its wooded depths, 
it had grown gloomy and somber in her eyes. Yield- 
ing to impulse, she loitered in the village, took the 
carriage road to the chateau, and sat there, with her 
back to the inner heights and her gaze fixed on the 
smiling valley that opened toward Italy out of the 
Septimer Pass. 

Meanwhile, Stampa hurried past the stables, where 
his horses were munching the remains of the little 
oaten loaves which form the staple food of hard 
worked animals in the Alps. He entered the hotel 
by the main entrance, and was on his way to the 
manager’s bureau, when Spencer, smoking on the 
veranda, caught sight of him. 

Instantly the American started in pursuit. By 
this time he had heard of Helen’s accident from one 
of yesterday’s passers by. It accounted for the de- 
lay; but he was anxious to learn exactly what had 
happened. 

Stampa reached the office first. He was speaking 
to the manager, when Spencer came in and said in his 
downright way; 

“ This is the man who drove Miss Wynton from 
St. Moritz last night. I don’t suppose I shall be 
96 


AN INTERLUDE 


able to understand what he says. Will you kindly 
ask him what caused the trouble? ” 

‘‘It is quite an easy matter,” was the smiling re- 
sponse. “ Poor Stampa is not only too eager to 
pass every other vehicle on the road, but he is in- 
clined to watch the mountains rather than his horses’ 
ears. He was a famous guide once; but he met with 
misfortune, and took to carriage work as a means 
of livelihood. He has damaged his turnout twice 
this year; so this morning he was dismissed by tele- 
phone, and another driver is coming from St. Moritz 
to take his place.” 

Spencer looked at Stampa. He liked the strong, 
worn face, with its half wistful, half resigned ex- 
pression. An uneasy feeling gripped him that the 
whim of a moment in the Embankment Hotel might 
exert its crazy influence in quarters far removed 
from the track that seemed then to be so direct and 
pleasure-giving. 

“ Why did he want to butt in between the other 
fellow and the landscape? What was the hurry, any- 
how ? ” he asked. 

Stampa smiled genially when the questions were 
translated to him. “ I was talking to the signorina,” 
he explained, using his native tongue, for he was bom 
on the Italian side of the Bernina. 

“ That counts, but it gives no good reason why 
he should risk her life,” objected Spencer. 

Stampa’s weather furrowed cheeks reddened. 
“ There was no danger,” he muttered wrathfully. 

97 


THE SILENT BARRIER 


‘‘ Madonna ! I would lose the use of another limb 
rather than hurt a hair of her head. Is she not my 
good angel .f’ Has she not drawn me back from the 
gate of hell.^ Risk her life! Are people saying 
that because a worm-eaten wheel went to pieces 
against a stone ” 

“ What on earth is he talking about ? ” demanded 
Spencer. “ Has he been pestering Miss Wynton 
this morning with some story of his present diffi- 
culties ? ” 

The manager knew Stampa’s character. He put 
the words in kindlier phrase. “ Does the signorina 
know that you have lost your situation.? ” he said. 

Even in that mild form, the suggestion annoyed 
the old man. He flung it aside with scornful gesture, 
and turned to leave the office. “ Tell the gentleman 
to go to Zermatt and ask in the street if Christian 
Stampa the guide would throw himself on a woman’s 
charity,” he growled. 

Spencer did not wait for any interpretation. 
“ Hold on,” he said quietly. “ What is he going to 
do now.? Work, for a man of his years, doesn’t grow 
on gooseberry bushes, I suppose.” 

“Christian, Christian! You are hot-headed as a 
boy,” cried the manager. “ The fact is,” he went 
on, “ he came to me to offer his services. But I have 
already engaged more drivers than I need, and I 
am dismissing some stable men. Perhaps he can find 
a job in St. Moritz.” 

^ “ Are his days as guide ended .? ” 

98 


AN INTERLUDE 


“ Unfortunately, yes. I believe he is as active as 
ever; but people won’t credit it. And you cannot 
blame them. When one’s safety depends on a man 
who may have to cling to an ice covered rock like a 
fly to a window pane, one is apt to distrust a crooked 
leg.” 

“ Did he have an accident ? ” 

The manager hesitated. “ It is part of his sad 
history,” he said. “ He fell, and nearly killed him- 
self ; but he was hurrying to see the last of a daughter 
to whom he was devoted.” 

“ Is he a local man, then? ” 

“ No. Oh, no ! The girl happened to be here 
when the end came.” 

“ Well, I guess he will suit my limited require- 
ments in the fly and window-pane business while I 
remain in Maloja,” said Spencer. “ Tell him I am 
willing to put up ten francs a day and extras for 
his exclusive services as guide during my stay.” 

Poor Stampa was nearly overwhelmed by this 
unexpected good fortune. In his agitation he blurted 
out, “ Ah, then, the good God did really send an 
angel to my help this morning ! ” 

Spencer, however, reviewing his own benevolence 
over a pipe outside the hotel, expressed the cynical 
opinion that the hot sun was affecting his brain. 
“ I’m on a loose end,” he communed. “ Next time I 
waft myself to Europe on a steamer I’ll bring my 
mother. It would be a bully fine notion to cable 
for her right away. I want someone to take care 
99 


THE SILENT BARRIER 


of me. It looks as if I had a cinch on running this 
hotel gratis. What in thunder will happen next.?^ ” 

He could surely have answered that query if he 
had the least inkling of the circumstances governing 
Helen’s prior meeting with Stampa. As it was, the 
development of events followed the natural course. ' 
While Spencer strolled off by the side of the lake, 
the old guide lumbered into the village street, and 
waited there, knowing that he would waylay the 
hella Inglesa on her return. Though she came from 
the chateau and not from Cavloccio, he did not fail 
to see her. 

At first she was at a loss to fathom the cause of 
Stamp a’s delight, and still less to understand why 
he should want to thank her with such exuberance. 
She imagined he was overjoyed at having gone back 
to his beloved profession, and it was only by dint 
of questioning that she discovered the truth. Then 
it dawned on her that the man had been goaded to 
desperation by the curt message from St. Moritz, — 
that he was sorely tempted to abandon the struggle, 
and follow into the darkness the daughter taken from 
him so many years ago, — ^and the remembrance of 
her suspicion when they were about to part at the 
cemetery gate lent a serious note to her words of 
congratulation. 

“ You see, Stampa,” she said, “ you were very 
wrong to lose faith this morning. At the very mo- 
ment of your deepest despair Heaven was providing 
a good friend for you.” 


100 


AN INTERLUDE 


‘‘Yes, indeed, frdulem. That is why I waited here^ 
I felt that I must thank you. It was all through you. 
The good God sent you ” 

“ I think you are far more beholden to the gentle- 
man who employed you than to me,” she broke in. 

“ Yes, he is splendid, the young voyageur; but it 
was wholly on your account, lady. He was angry 
with me at first, because he thought I placed you 
in peril in the matter of the wheel.” 

Helen was amazed. “ He spoke of me? ” she cried. 

“ Ah, yes. He did not say much, but his eyes 
looked through me. He has the eyes of a true man, 
that young American.” 

She was more bewildered than ever. “ What is 
his name? ” she asked. 

“ Here it is. The director wrote it for me, so that 
I may learn how to pronounce it.” 

Stampa produced a scrap of paper, and Helen 
read, “ Mr. Charles K. Spencer.” 

“ Are you quite certain he mentioned me ? ” she 
repeated. 

“ Can I be mistaken, frcmlem. I know, because I 
studied the labels on your boxes. Mees Helene Ween- 
ton — so? And did he not rate me about the acci- 
dent? ” 

“Well, wonders will never cease,” she vowed; and 
indeed they were only just beginning in her life, 
which shows how blind to excellent material wonders 
can be. 

At luncheon she summoned the head waiter. “ Is 

101 


THE SILENT BARRIER 


there a Mr. Charles K. Spencer staying in the hotel.? ” 
she asked. 

“ Yes, madam.” 

Will you please tell me if he is in the room.? ” 

The head waiter turned. Spencer was studying 
the menu. “ Yes, madam. There he is, sitting alone, 
at the second table from the window.” 

It was quite to be expected that the subject of 
their joint gaze should look at them instantly. There 
is a magnetism in the human eye that is unfailing in 
that respect, and its power is increased a hundred- 
fold when a charming young woman tries it on a 
young man who happens to be thinking of her at 
the moment. 

Then Spencer realized that Stampa had told Helen 
what had taken place in the hotel bureau, and he 
wanted to kick himself for having forgotten to make 
secrecy a part of the bargain. 

Helen, knowing that he knew, blushed furiously. 
She tried to hide her confusion by murmuring some- 
thing to the head waiter. But in her heart she was 
saying, “ Who in the world is he.? I have never seen 
him before last night. And why am I such an idiot 
as to tremble all over just because he happened to 
catch me looking at him.?” 


102 



CHAPTER VI 

THE BATTLEFIELD 

Both man and woman were far too well bred to 
indulge in an ceillade. The knowledge that each was 
thinking of the other led rather to an ostentatious 
avoidance of anything that could be construed into 
any such flirtatious overture. 

Though Stampa’s curious statement had puzzled 
Helen, she soon hit on the theory that the American 
must have heard of the accident to her carriage. 
Yes, that supplied a ready explanation. No doubt 
he kept a sharp lookout for her on the road. He 
arrived at the hotel almost simultaneously with her- 
self, and she had not forgotten his somewhat inquir- 
ing glance as they stood together on the steps. With 
the chivalry of his race in all things concerning 
womankind, he was eager to render assistance, and 
under the circumstances he probably wondered what 
sort of damsel in distress it was that needed help. 
103 


THE SILENT BARRIER 


It was natural enough too that in engaging Stampa 
he should refer to the carelessness that brought 
about the collapse of the wheel. Really, when one 
came to analyze an incident seemingly inexplic- 
able, it resolved itself into quite commonplace con- 
stituents. 

She found it awkward that he should be sitting 
between her and a window commanding the best 
view of the lake. If Spencer had been at any other 
table, she could have feasted her eyes on the whole 
expanse of the Ober-Engadin Valley. Therefore she 
had every excuse for looking that way, whereas he 
had none for gazing at her. Spencer appeared to 
be aware of this disability. For lack of better occu- 
pation he scrutinized the writing on the menu with 
a prolonged intentness worthy of a gormand or an 
expert graphologist. 

Helen rose first, and that gave him an opportunity 
to note her graceful carriage. Though born in the 
States, he was of British stock, and he did not share 
the professed opinion of the American humorist that 
the typical Englishwoman is angul?ir, has large feet, 
and does not know how to walk. Helen, at any rate, 
betrayed none of these elements of caricature. Though 
there were several so-called “ smart ” women in the 
hotel, — ^women who clung desperately to the fringe 
of Society on both sides of the Atlantic, — his pro- 
tegee was easily first among the few who had any 
claim to good looks. 

Helen was not only tall and lithe, but her move- 

104 


THE BATTLEFIELD 


ments were marked by a quiet elegance. It was her 
custom, in nearly all weathers, to walk from Bays- 
water to Professor von Eulenberg’s study, which, 
needless to say, was situated near the British Mu- 
seum. She usually returned by a longer route, un- 
less pelting rain or the misery of London snow made 
the streets intolerable. Thus there was hardly a day 
that she did not cover eight miles at a rapid pace, 
a method of training that eclipsed all the artifices 
of beauty doctors and schools of deportment. Her 
sweetly pretty face, her abundance of shining brown 
hair, her slim, well proportioned figure, and the 
almost athletic swing of her well arched shoulders, 
would entitle her to notice in a gathering of beauties 
far more noted than those who graced Maloja with 
their presence that year. In addition to these 
physical attractions she carried with her the rarer 
and indefinable aura of the born aristocrat. As it 
happened, she merited that description both by birth 
and breeding; but there is a vast company entitled 
to consideration on that score to whom nature has 
cruelly denied the necessary hallmarks — otherwise 
the pages of Burke would surely be embellished with 
portraits. 

Indeed, so far as appearance went, it was rather 
ludicrous to regard Helen as the social inferior of 
any person then resident in the Kursaal, and it is 
probable that a glimmering knowledge of this fact 
infiamed Mrs. de Courcy Vavasour’s wrath to boiling 
point, when a few minutes later, she saw her son 
105 


THE SILENT BARRIER 


coolly walk up to the “ undesirable ” and enter into 
conversation with her. 

Helen was seated in a shady corner. A flood of 
sunlight filled the glass covered veranda with a grate- 
ful warmth. She had picked up an astonishingly 
well written and scholarly guide book issued by the 
proprietors of the hotel, and was deep in its opening 
treatise on the history and racial characteristics of 
the Engadiners, when she was surprised at hearing 
herself addressed by name. 

“ Er — Miss — er — Wynton, I believe ” said a 
drawling voice. 

Looking up, she found George de Courcy Vavasour 
bending over her in an attitude that betokened the 
utmost admiration for both parties to the tete-a-tete. 
Under ordinary conditions, — that is to say, if Vava- 
sour’s existence depended on his own exertions, — 
Helen’s eyes would have dwelt on a gawky youth 
endowed with a certain pertness that might in time 
have brought him from behind the counter of a 
drapery store to the wider arena of the floor. As 
it was, a reasonably large income gave him unbounded 
assurance, and his credit with a good tailor was 
unquestionable. He represented a British product 
that flourishes best in alien soil. There exists a for- 
eign legion of George de Courcy Vavasours, flaccid 
heroes of fashion plates, whose parade grounds 
change with the seasons from Paris to the Riviera, 
and from the Riviera to some nook in the Alps^ 
Providence and a grandfather have conspired in their 
106 


THE BATTLEEIEED 


behalf to make work unnecessary; but Providence, 
more far-seeing than grandfathers, has decreed that 
they shall be effete and light brained, so the type does 
not endure. 

Helen, out of the comer of her eye, became aware 
that Mrs. de Courcy Vavasour was advancing with 
all the plumes of the British matron ruffled for bat- 
tle. It was not in human nature that the girl should 
not recall the slight offered her the previous even- 
ing. With the thought came the temptation to re- 
pay it now with interest ; but she thmst it aside. 

‘‘ Yes, that is my name,” she said, smiling pleas- 
antly. 

“ Well — er — the General has asked me to — er — 
invite you take part in some of our tournaments. 
We have tennis, you know, an’ golf, an’ croquet, an’ 
that sort of tiling. Of course, you play tennis, an’ 
I rather fancy you’re a golfer as well. You look 
that kind of girl — Eh, what ? ” 

He caressed a small mustache as he spoke, using 
the finger and thumb of each hand alternately, and 
Helen noticed that his hands were surprisingly large 
when compared with his otherwise fragile frame. 

‘‘ Who is the General ? ” she inquired. 

“ Oh, Wragg, you know. He looks after every- 
thing in the amusement line, an’ I help. Do let me 
put you down for the singles an’ mixed doubles. None 
of the women here can play for nuts, an’ I haven’t 
got a partner yet for the doubles. I’ve been waitin’ 
for someone like you to turn up.” 

107 




THE SILENT BARRIER 


‘‘ You have not remained long in suspense,” she 
could not help sajing. “ You are Mr. Vavasour, 
are you not.? ” 

“ Yes, better known as Georgie.” 

“ And you arrived in Maloja last evening, I think. 
Well, I do play tennis, or rather, I used to play 
fairly well some years ago ” 

“ By gad! just what I thought. Go slow in your 
practice games. Miss Wynton, an’ you’ll have a rip- 
pin’ handicap.” 

“Would that be quite honest.?” said Helen, lift- 
ing her steadfast brown eyes to meet his somewhat 
too free scrutiny. 

“ Honest.? Rather! You wait till you see the old 
guard pullin’ out a bit when they settle down to 
real business. But the General is up to their lit- 
tle dodges. He knows their form like a book, an’ 
he gets every one of ’em shaken out by the first 
round — Eh, what .? ” 

“ The arrangement seems to be ideal if one is 
friendly with the General,” said Helen. 

Vavasour drew up a chair. He also drew up the 
ends of his trousers, thus revealing that the Pome- 
ranian brown and myrtle green stripes in his neck- 
tie were faithfully reproduced in his socks, while 
these master tints were thoughtfully developed in 
the subdominant hues of his clothes and boots. 

“ By Jove ! what a stroke of luck I should have 
got hold of you first ! ” he chuckled. “ I’m pretty 
good at the net. Miss Wynton. If we manage things 
108 


THE BATTLEFIELD 


properly, we ought to have the mixed doubles a 
gift with plus half forty, an’ in the ladies’ singles 
you’ll be a Queen’s Club champion at six-stone nine — 
Eh, what ? ” 

Though Vavasour represented a species of inane 
young man whom Helen detested, she bore with him 
because she hungered for the sound of an English 
voice in friendly converse this bright morning. At 
times her life was lonely enough in London; but 
she had never felt her isolation there. The great 
city appealed to her in all its moods. Her cheerful 
yet sensitive nature did not shrink from contact with 
its hurrying crowds. The mere sense of aloofness 
among so many millions of people brought with it 
the knowledge that she was one of them, a human 
atom plunged into a heedless vortex the moment she 
passed from her house into the street. 

Here in Maloja things were different. While her 
own identity was laid bare, while men and women 
canvassed her name, her appearance, her occupation, 
she was cut off* from them by a social wall of their 
own contriving. The attitude of the younger 
women told her that trespassers were forbidden 
within that sacred fold. She knew now that she had 
done a daring thing — outraged one of the cheap 
conventions-^in coming alone to this clique-ridden 
Swiss valley. Better a thousand times have sought 
lodgings in some small village inn, and mixed with 
the homely folk who journeyed thither on the dili- 
gence or tramped joyously afoot, than strive to win 
109 


THE SILENT CARRIER 


the sympathy of any of these shallow nonentities of 
the smart set. 

Even while listening to “ Georgie’s ” efforts to 
win her smiles with slangy confidences, she saw that 
Mrs. Vavasour had halted in mid career, and joined 
j a group of women, evidently a mother and two 
daughters, and that she herself was the subject of 
their talk. She wondered why. She was somewhat 
perplexed when the conclave broke up suddenly, the 
girls going to the door, Mrs. Vavasour retreating 
majestically to the far end of the veranda, and 
the other elderly woman drawing a short, fat, red 
faced man away from a discussion with another man. 

“ Jolly place, this,” Vavasour was saying. 

There’s dancin’ most nights. The dowager bri- 
gade want the band to play classical music, an’ that 
sort of rot, you know ; but Mrs. de la Vere and the 
Wragg girls like a hop, an’ we generally arrange 
things our own way. We’ll have a dance to-night 
if you wish it; but you must promise to ” 

“ Georgie,” cried the pompous little man, “ I want 
you a minute ! ” 

Vavasour swung round. Evidently he regarded 
the interruption as “ a beastly bore.” “ All right. 
General,” he said airily. “I’ll be there soon. No 
hurry, is there.? ” 

“ Yes, I want you now ! ” The order was em- 
phatic. The General’s only military asset was a 
martinet voice, and he made the most of it. 

“ Rather rotten, isn’t it, interferin’ with a fellow 

110 


THE BATTLEFIELD 


in this way?” muttered Vavasour. “Will you ex- 
cuse me? I must see what the old boy is worryin^ 
about. I shall come back soon — Eh, what? ” 

“ I am going out,” said Helen ; “ but we shall meet 
again. I remain here a month.” 

“ You’ll enter for the tournament? ” he asked over 
his shoulder. 

“ I — think so. It will be something to do.” 

“ Thanks awfully. And don’t forget to-night.” 

Helen laughed. She could not help it. The 
younger members of the Wragg family were eying 
her sourly through the glass partition. They seemed 
to be nice girls too, and she made up her mind 
to disillusion them speedily if they thought that she 
harbored designs on the callow youth whom they 
probably regarded as their own special cavalier. 

When she passed through the inner doorway to 
go to her room she noticed that the General was 
giving Georgie some instructions which were listened 
to in sulky silence. Indeed, that remarkable ex- 
warrior was laying down the law of the British parish 
with a clearness that was admirable. He had been 
young himself once, — dammit! — and had as keen an 
eye for a pretty face as any other fellow; but no 
gentleman could strike up an acquaintance with an 
unattached female under the very nose of his mother, 
not to mention the noses of other ladies who were 
his friends. Georgie broke out in protest. 

“ Oh, but I say. General, she is a lady, an’ you 
yourself said ” 


111 


THE SILENT BARRIEfl 

“ I know I did. I was wrong. Even a wary old 
bird like me can make a mistake. Mrs. Vavasour has 
just warned my wife about her. It’s no good argu- 
ing, Georgie, my boy. Nowadays you can’t draw 
the line too rigidly. Things permissible in Paris or 
Nice won’t pass muster here. I’m sorry, Georgie. 
She’s a high stepper and devilish taking, I admit. 
Writes for some ha’penny rag — er — for some cheap 
society paper, I hear. Why, dash it all, she will be 
lampooning us in it before we know where we are. 
Just you go and tell your mother you’ll behave bet- 
ter in future. Excellent woman, Mrs. Vavasour. 
She never makes a mistake. Gad ! don’t you remem- 
ber how she spotted that waiter from the Ritz who 
gulled the lot of us at the Jetee last winter? 'Took 
him for the French marquis he said he was, every one 
of us, women and all, till Mrs. V. fixed her eye on 
him and said, ‘ Gustave ! ’ Damme ! how he curled 
up ! ” 

George was still obdurate. A masquerading waiter 
differed from Helen in many essentials. ‘‘ He was 
a Frenchman, an’ they’re mostly rotters. This girl 
is English, General, an’ I shall look a proper sort 
of an ass if I freeze up suddenly after what I’ve said 
to her.” 

“ Not for the first time, my boy, and mebbe not 
for the last.” Then, in view of the younger man’s 
obvious defiance, the General’s white mustache bris- 
tled. “ Of course, you can please yourself,” he 
growled: “but neither Mrs. Wragg nor my daugh- 
112 


THE BATTLEFIELD 


ters will tolerate your acquaintance with that per- 
son ! ” 

“ Oh, all right, General,” came the irritated an- 
swer. “ Between you an’ the mater I’ve got to come 
to heel; but it’s a beastly shame, I say, an’ you’re 
all makin’ a jolly big mistake.” 

Georgie’s intelligence might be superficial; but 
he knew a lady when he met one, and Helen had at- 
tracted him powerfully. He was thanking his stars 
for the good fortune that numbered him among the 
earliest of her acquaintances in the hotel, and it 
was too bad that the barring edict should have been 
issued against her so unexpectedly. But he was not 
of a fighting breed, and he quailed before the threat 
of Mrs. Wragg’s displeasure. 

Helen, after a delightful ramble past the chateau 
and along the picturesque turns and twists of the 
Colline des Artistes, returned in time for tea, which 
was served on the veranda, the common rendezvous 
of the hotel during dayhght. No one spoke to her. 
She went out again, and walked by the lake till the 
shadows fell and the mountains glittered in purple 
and gold. She dressed herself in a simple white even- 
ing frock, dined in solitary state, and ventured into 
the ball room after dinner. 

Georgie was dancing with Mrs. de la Vere, a lan- 
guid looking woman who seemed to be pining for 
admiration. At the conclusion of the waltz that was 
going on when Helen entered. Vavasour brought his 
partner a whisky and soda and a cigarette. He 
113 


THE SILENT BARRIER 


passed Helen twice, but ignored her, and whirled one 
of the Wragg girls off into a polka. Again he failed 
to see her when parties were being formed for a 
quadrille. Even to herself she did not attempt to 
deny a feeling of annoyance, though she extracted 
a bitter amusement from the knowledge that she 
had been slighted by such a vapid creature. 

She was under no misconception as to what had 
happened. The women were making a dead set 
against her. If she had been plain or dowdy, they 
might have been friendly enough. It was an un- 
pardonable offense that she should be good looking, 
unchaperoned, and not one of the queerly assorted 
mixture they deemed their monde. For a few minutes 
she was really angry. She realized that her only 
crime was poverty. Given a little share of the wealth 
held by many of these passee matrons and bold-eyed 
girls, she would be a reigning star among them, and 
could act and talk as she liked. Yet her shyness 
and reserve would have been her best credentials to 
any society that was constituted on a sounder basis 
than a gathering of snobs. Among really well-bom 
people she would certainly have been received on an 
equal footing until some valid reason for ostracism 
was forthcoming. The imported limpets on this 
Swiss rock of gentility were not sure of their 
own grip. Hence, they strenuously refused to 
make room for a newcomer until they were shoved 
aside. 

Poor, disillusioned Helen ! When she went to 

114 


THE BATTLEFIELD 


church she prayed to the good Lord to deliver her 
and everybody else from envy, hatred, and malice, 
and all uncharitableness. She felt now that there 
might well be added to the Litany a fresh petition 
which should include British communities on the Con- 
tinent in the list of avoidable evils. 

At that instant the piquant face and figure of 
Millicent Jaques rose before her mind’s eye. She 
pictured to herself the cool effrontery with which 
the actress would crush these waspish women by 
creating a court of every eligible man in the place. 
It was not a healthy thought, but it was the off- 
spring of sheer vexation, and Helen experienced her 
second temptation that day when de la Vere, the 
irresistible “ Reginald ” of Mrs. Vavasour’s sketchy 
reminiscences, came and asked her to dance. 

She recognized him at once. He sat with Mrs. de 
la Vere at table, and never spoke to her unless it 
was strictly necessary. He had distinguished man- 
ners, a pleasant voice, and a charming smile, and 
he seemed to be the devoted slave of every pretty 
woman in the hotel except his wife. 

Please pardon the informality,” he said, with 
an affability that cloaked the impertinence. “We 
are quite a family party at Maloja. I hear you are 
staying here some weeks, and we are bound to get 
to know each other sooner or later.” 

Helen could dance well.. She was so mortified by 
the injustice meted out to her that she almost ac- 
cepted de la Vere’s partnership on the spur of the 
115 


THE SILENT BARRIER 


moment. But her soul rebelled against the man’s 
covert insolence, and she said quietly: 

“ No, thank you. I do not care to dance.” 

“ May I sit here and talk.? ” he persisted. 

“ I am just going,” she said, “ and I think Mrs. 
de la Vere is looking for you.” 

By happy chance the woman in question was 
standing alone in the center of the ball room, obvi- 
ously in quest of some man who would take her to 
the foyer for a cigarette. Helen retreated with the 
honors of war ; but the irresistible one only laughed. 

“ That idiot Georgie told the truth, then,” he ad- 
mitted. “ And she knows what the other women 
are saying. What cats these dear creatures can be, 
to be sure ! ” 

Spencer happened to be an interested onlooker. 
Indeed, he was trying to arrive at the best means 
of obtaining an introduction to Helen when he saw 
de la Vere stroll leisurely up to her with the assured 
air of one sated by conquest. The girl brushed close 
to him as he stood in the passage. She held her 
head high and her eyes were sparkling. He had not 
heard what was said; but de la Vere’s discomfiture 
was so patent that even his wife smiled as she sailed 
out on the arm of a youthful purveyor of cigarettes. 

Spencer longed for an opportunity to kick de la 
Vere; yet, in some sense, he shared that redoubtable 
lady-killer’s rebuff. He too was wondering if the 
social life of a Swiss hotel would permit him to seek 
a dance with Helen. Under existing conditions, it 
116 


THE BATTLEFIELD 


would provide quite a humorous episode, he told him- 
self, to strike up a friendship with her. He could 
not imagine why she had adopted such an aloof atti- 
tude toward all and sundry; but it was quite evident 
that she declined anything in the guise of promiscu- 
* ous acquaintance. And he, like her, felt lonely. 
There were several Americans in the hotel, and he 
would probably meet some of the men in the bar 
or smoking room after the dance was ended. But 
he would have preferred a pleasant chat with Helen 
that evening, and now she had gone to her room 
in a huff. 

Then an inspiration came to him. “ Guess I’ll stir 
up Mackenzie to send along an introduction,” he 
said. “ A telegram will fix things.” 

It was not quite so easy to explain matters in the 
curt language of the wire, he found, and it savored 
of absurdity to amaze the beer-drinking Scot with 
a long message. So he compromised between desire 
and expediency by a letter. 

“ Dear Mr. Mackenzie,” he wrote, “ life is not rapid at this 
terminus. It might take on some new features if I had the 
privilege of saying ‘ How de do ’ to Miss Wynton. Will you 
oblige me by telling her that one of your best and newest 
friends happens to be in the same hotel as her charming self, 
and that if she gets him to sparkle, he (which is I) will help 
considerable with copy for ‘ The Firefly.* Advise me by same 
post, and the rest of the situation is up to yours faithfully, 

“ C. K. S.” 

The letter was posted, and Spencer waited five 
tiresome days. He saw little or nothing of Helen 
117 


THE SHLENT BARRIER 


save at meals. Once he met her on a footpath that runs 
through a wood by the side of the lake to the little 
hamlet of Isola, and he was minded to raise his hat, 
as he would have done to any other woman in the 
hotel whom he encountered under similar circum- 
stances; but she deliberately looked away, and his 
intended courtesy must have passed unheeded. 

As he sedulously avoided any semblance of dog- 
ging her footsteps, he could not know how she was 
being persecuted by de la Vere, Vavasour, and one or 
two other men of like habit. That knowledge was 
yet to come. Consequently he deemed her altogether 
too prudish, and was so out of patience with her 
that he and Stampa went off for a two days’ climb by 
way of the Muretto Pass to Chiareggio and back to 
Sils Maria over the Fex glacier. 

Footsore and tired, but thoroughly converted to 
the marvels of the high Alps, he reached the Kursaal 
side by side with the postman who brought the chief 
English mail about six o’clock each evening. 

He waited with an eager crowd of residents while 
the hall porter sorted the letters. There were some 
for him from America, and one from London in a 
handwriting that was strange to him. But he had 
quick eyes, and he saw that a letter addressed to 
Miss Helen Wynton, in the flamboyant envelope of 
“ The Firefly,” bore the same script. 

Mackenzie had risen to the occasion. He even in- 
dulged in a classical joke. “ There is something in 
the name of Helen that attracts,” he said. Were 
118 


THE BATTLEFIELD 


it not for the lady whose face drew a thousand ships 
to Ilium, we should never have heard of Paris, or 
Troy, or the heel of Achilles, and all these would be 
greatly missed.” 

And I should never have heard of Mackenzie oi 
Maloja,” thought Spencer, sinking into a chair and 
looking about to learn whether or not the girl would 
find her letter before he went to dress for dinner. 
He was sure she knew his name. Perhaps when she 
read the editor’s note, she too would search the spa- 
cious lounge with those fine eyes of hers for the man 
described therein. If that were so, he meant to go 
to her instantly, discuss the strangeness of the coim 
cidence that led to two of Mackenzie’s friends being 
at the hotel at the same time, and suggest that they 
should dine together. 

The project seemel feasible, and it was decidedly 
pleasant in perspective. He longed to compare notes 
with her, — to tell her the quaint stories of the hills 
related to him by Stampa in a medley of English, 
French, Italian, and German; perhaps to plan de- 
lightful trips to the fairyland in company. 

People began to clear away from the hall porter’s 
table ; yet Helen remained invisible. He could hardly 
have missed her; but to make certain he rose and 
glanced at the few remaining letters. Yes, “ The 
Firefly’s ” gaudy imprint still gleamed at him. He 
turned way, disappointed. After hie long tramp and 
a night in a weird Italian inn, a bath was imperative, 
and the boom of the dressing gong was imminent. 
119 


THE SILENT BARRIER 


He was crossing the hall toward the elevator when 
he heard her voice. 

“ I am so glad you are keen on an early climb,” 
she was saying, with a new note of confidence that 
stirred him strangely. “ I have been longing to 
leave the sign boards and footpaths far behind, but I 
felt rather afraid of going to the Fomo for the first 
time with a guide. You see, I know nothing about 
mountaineering, and you can put me up to aU the 
dodges beforehand.” 

“ Show you the ropes, in fact,” agreed the man 
with her, Mark Bower. 

Spencer was so completely taken by surprise that 
he could only stare at the two as though they were 
ghosts. They had entered the hotel together, and 
had apparently been out for a walk. Helen picked 
up her letter and held it carelessly in her hand 
while she continued to talk with Bower. Her pleas- 
urable excitement was undeniable. She regarded her 
companion as a friend, and was evidently overjoyed 
at his presence. Spencer banged into the elevator, 
astonished the attendant and two other occupants 
by the savagery of his command, “ Au deuxieme, 
vite ! ” and paced through a long corridor with noisy 
clatter of hob-nailed boots. 

He was in a rare fret and fume when he sat down 
to dinner alone. Bower was at Helen’s table. It 
was brightened by rare flowers not often seen in 
sterile Maloja. A bottle of champagne rested in an 
ice bucket by his side. He had brought with him 
120 


THE BATTLEFIELD 


the atmosphere of London, of the pleasant life that 
London offers to those who can buy her favors. 
Truly this Helen, all unconsciously, had not only 
found the heel of a modem Achilles, but was wound- 
ing him sorely. For now Spencer knew that he 
wanted to see her frank eyes smiling into his as 
they were smiling into Bower’s, and, no matter what 
turn events took, a sinister element had been thrust 
into a harmless idyl by this man’s arrival. 



CHAPTER VII 

SOME SKIRMISHING 

Later, the American saw the two sitting in the 
hall. They were chatting with the freedom of old 
friends. Helen’s animated face showed that the sub- 
ject of their talk was deeply interesting. She was 
telling Bower of the slights inflicted on her by the 
other women; but Spencer interpreted her intent 
manner as supplying sufficient proof of a stronger 
emotion than mere friendliness. He was beginning 
to detest Bower. 

It was his habit to decide quickly when two ways 
opened before him. He soon settled his course now. 
To remain in the hotel under present conditions in- 
volved a loss of self respect, he thought. He went to 
the bureau, asked for his account, and ordered a car- 
riage to St. Moritz for the morrow’s fast train to 
England. 

The manager was politely regretful. “ You are 


SOME SKIRMISHING 


leaving us at the wrong time, sir,” he said. ‘‘ Within 
the next few days we ought to have a midsummer 
storm, when even the lower hills will be covered with 
snow. Then, we usually enjoy a long spell of mag- 
nificent weather.” 

“ Sorry,” said Spencer. “ I like the scramble up 
there,” and he nodded in the direction of the Bernina 
range, “ and old Stampa is a gem of a guide ; but I 
can hardly put off any longer some business that 
needs attention in England. Anyhow, I shall come 
back, perhaps next month. Stampa says it is all 
right here in September.” 

“ Our best month, I assure you, and the ideal time 
to drop down into Italy when you are tired of the 
mountains.” 

“ I must let it go at that. I intend to fix Stampa 
so that he can remain here till the end of the sea- 
son. So you see I mean to return.” 

“ He was very fortunate in meeting you, Mr. Spen- 
cer,” said the manager warmly. 

“ Well, it is time he had a slice of luck. I’ve 
taken a fancy to the old fellow. One night, in the 
Fomo hut, he told me something of his story. I 
guess it will please him to stop at the Maloja for 
awhile.” 

“ He told you about his daughter ? ” came thet 
tentative question. 

“ Not all. I am afraid there was no difficulty in 
filling in the blanks. I heard enough to make me 
respect him and sympathize with his troubles.” 

12S 


THE SILENT BARRIER 


The manager shook his head, with the air of one 
who recalls that which he would willingly have for- 
gotten. “ Such incidents are rare in Switzerland,” 
he said. “ I well remember the sensation her death 
created. She was such a pretty girl. The young 
men at Pontresina called her ‘ The Edelweiss ’ because 
she was so inaccessible. In fact, poor Stampa had 
educated her beyond her station, and that is not al- 
ways good for a woman, especially in these quiet val- 
leys, where knowledge of cattle and garden produce 
is a better asset than speaking French and playing 
the piano.” 

Spencer agreed. He could name other districts 
where the same rule held good. He stood for a mo- 
ment in the spacious hall to light a cigar. Invol- 
untarily he glanced at Helen. She met his gaze, 
and said something to Bower that caused the latter 
also to turn and look. 

“ She has read Mackenzie’s letter,” thought Spen- 
cer, taking refuge behind a cloud of smoke. “ It 
will be bad behavior on my part to leave the hotel 
without making my bow. Shall I go to her now, or 
wait till morning.?^ ” 

He reflected that Helen might be out early next 
day. If he presented his introduction at once, she 
would probably ask him to sit with her a little while, 
and then he must become acquainted with Bower. He 
disliked the notion ; but he saw no way out of it, 
unless indeed Helen treated him with the chilling 
abruptness she meted out to other men in the hotel 
IM 


SOME SKIRMISHING 


who tried to become friendly with her. He was 
weighing the pros and cons dispassionately, when the 
English chaplain approached. 

“ Do you play bridge, Mr. Spencer ? ” he asked. 

“ I know the leads, and call ‘ without ’ on the least 
provocation,” was the reply. 

“ You are the very man I am searching for, and 
I have the authority of the First Book of Samuel 
in my quest.” 

“ Well, now, that is the last place in which I 
should expect to find my bridge portrait.” 

‘‘ Don’t you remember how Saul’s servants asked 
his permission to ‘ seek out a man who is a cunning 
player ’ ? That is exactly what I am doing. Come to 
the smoking room. There are two other men there, 
and one is a fellow countryman of yours.” 

The Rev. Mr. Hare was a genial soul, a Somerset- 
shire vicar who took his annual holiday by accepting 
a temporary position in some Alpine village where 
there was an English church. He did not dream that 
he was acting the part of Hermes, messenger of the 
gods, at that moment, for indeed his appearance on 
the scene just then changed the whole trend of Spen- 
cer’s actions. 

“ What a delightful place this is ! ” he went on as 
they walked together through a long corridor. “ But 
what is the matter with the people ? They don’t mix. 
I would not have believed that there were so many 
prigs in the British Isles.” 

Some such candid opinion had occurred to Spencer ; 

125 


THE SILENT BARRIER 

but, being an American, he thought that perhaps hb 
might be mistaken. “ The English character is 
somewhat adaptable to environment, I have heard. 
That is why you send out such excellent colonists,” 
he said. 

“ Doesn’t that go rather to prove that everybody 
here should be hail fellow well met.^^ ” 

‘‘ Not at all. They take their pose from the Alps, 
— snow, glaciers, hard rock, you know, — that is the 
subtlety of it.” 

The vicar laughed. ‘‘ You have given me a new 
point of view,” he said. “ Some of them are slippery 
customers too. Yes, one might carry the parallel 
a long way. But here we are. Now, mind you cut 
me as a partner. I have tried the others, and found 
them severely critical — as bridge players. You look 
a stoic.” 

The vicar had his wish. Spencer and he opposed 
a man from Pittsburg, named Holt, and Dunston, an 
Englishman. 

While the latter was shuffling the cards for Hare’s 
deal he said something that took one, at least, of 
his hearers by surprise. “ Bower has turned up, I 
see. What has brought him to the Engadine at this 
time of year I can’t guess, unless perhaps he is 
interested in a pretty face.” 

“ At this time of the year,” repeated Spencer. 
“Isn’t this the season.?” 

“ Not for him. He used to be a famous climber; 
but he has given it up since he waxed fat and pros- 
126 


SOME SKIRMISHING 


perous. I have met him once or twice at St. Moritz 
in the winter. Otherwise, he usually shows up in 
the fashionable resorts in August, — Ostend, or 
Trouville, or, if he is livery, Vichy or Aix-les-Bains, 
— anywhere but this quiet spot. Bower likes excite- 
ment too. He often opens a thousand pound 
bank at baccarat, whereas people are shocked in 
Maloja at seeing Hare play bridge at tenpence a, 
hundred.” 

“ I leave it, partner,” broke in the vicar, to whom 
the game was the thing. 

“No trumps,” said Spencer, without giving the 
least heed to his cards. It was true his eyes were 
resting on the ace, king, and queen of spades; but 
his mind was tortured by the belief that by his fan- 
tastic conceit in sending Helen to this Alpine fast* 
ness he had delivered her bound to the vultures. 

“ Double no trumps,” said Dunston, gloating over 
the possession of a long suit of hearts and three aces. 
Hare looked anxious, and Spencer suddenly awoke to 
the situation. 

“ Satisfied,” he said. 

Holt led the three of hearts, and Spencer spread 
his cards on the table with the gravity of a Sioux 
chief. In addition to the three high spades he held 
six others. 

“ Really ! ” gasped the parson, “ a most remark- 
able declaration ! ” 

Yet there was an agitated triumph in his voice 
that was not pleasant hearing for Dunston, who 
127 


THE SILENT BARRIER 


took the trick with the ace of hearts and led the 
lowest of a sequence to the queen. 

Got him ! ” panted Hare, producing the king. 

The rest was easy. The vicar played a small spade 
and scored ninety-six points without any further 
risk. 

“ It is magnificent ; but it is not bridge,” said the 
man from Pittsburg. Dunston simply glowered. 

“ Partner,” demanded Hare timidly, “ may I ask 
why you called ‘ no trumps ’ on ‘ a hand like 
that.? ” 

Thought I would give you a chance of distin- 
guishing yourself,” replied Spencer. “ Besides, that 
sort of thing rattles your opponents at the begin- 
ning of a game. Keep your nerve now, padre, and 
you have ’em in a cleft stick.” 

As it happened. Holt made a ‘‘ no trump ” decla- 
ration on a very strong hand; but Spencer held 
seven clubs headed by the ace and king. 

He doubled. Holt redoubled. Spencer doubled 
again. 

Hare flushed somewhat. “ Allow me to say that I 
am very fond of bridge; but I cannot take part in 
a game that savors of gambling, even for low 
stakes,” he broke in. 

“ Shall we let her go at forty-eight points a 
trick? ” Spencer asked. 

“ Yep ! ” snapped Holt. “ Got all the clubs? ” 

“ Not all — sufficient, perhaps.” 

He played the ace. Dunston laid the queen and 

128 


SOME SKIRMISHING 


knave on the table. Spencer scored the winning 
trick before his adversary obtained an opening. 

“ You have a backbone of cast steel,” commented 
Dunston, who was an iron-master. “ Do you play 
baccarat.? ” he went on, with curious eagerness. 

I regret to state that my education was com- 
pleted in a Western mining camp.” 

“ Will you excuse the liberty, and perhaps Mr. 
Hare won’t listen for a moment? — but I will finance 
you in three banks of a thousand each, either bank- 
ing or punting, if you promise to take on Bower. 
I can arrange it easily. I say this because you per- 
sonally may not care to play for high sums.” 

The suggestion was astounding, coming as it did 
from a stranger; but Spencer merely said: 

“You don’t like Bower, then?” 

“ That is so. I have business relations with him 
occasionally, and there he is all that could be wished. 
But I have seen him clean out more than one young- 
ster ruthlessly, — force the play to too high stakes, 
I mean. I think you could take his measure. Any- 
how, I am prepared to back you.” 

“ I’m leaving here to-morrow.” 

“ Ah, well, we may have another opportunity. If 
so, my offer holds.” 

“ Guess you haven’t heard that Spencer is the 
man who bored a tunnel through the Rocky Moun- 
tains?” said Holt. 

“ No. You must tell me about it. Sorry, Mr. 
Hare, I am stopping the game.” 

129 


THE SILENT BARRIER 


' Spencer continued to have amazing good fortune^ 
and he played with skill, but without any more fire- 
works. At the close of the sitting the vicar said 
cheerfully : 

“ You are not a ladies’ man, Mr. Spencer. You 
know the old proverb, — lucky at cards, unlucky in 
love.P But let me hope that it does not apply in your 
case.” 

“ Talking about a ladies’ man, who is the girl 
your friend Bower dined with.^^ ” asked Holt. She 
has been in the hotel several days; but she didn’t 
seem to be acquainted with anybody in particular 
until he blew in this afternoon.” 

“ She is a Miss Helen Wynton,” said the vicar. 
“ I like her very much from what little I have seen 
of her. She attended both services on Sunday, and 
I happen to be aware of the fact that she was at 
mass in the Roman church earlier. I wanted her 
to play the harmonium next Sunday; but she de- 
clined, and gave me her reasons too.” 

“ May I ask what they were ? ” inquired Spencer. 

“ Well, speaking in confidence, they were griev- 
ously true. Some miserable pandering to Mrs. 
Grundy has set the other women against her; so 
she declined to thrust herself into prominence. I 
tried to talk her out of it, but failed.” 

“Who is Mrs. Grundy, anyhow.?” growled Holt. 

The others laughed. 

“ She is the Medusa of modern life,” explained 
the vicar. “ She turns to stone those who gaze on 
130 


SOME SKIRMISHING 


her. Most certainly she petrifies all good feeling 
and Christian tolerance. Why, I actually heard a 
woman whose conduct is not usually governed by 
what I hold to be good taste sneer at Miss Wynton 
this evening. ‘ The murder is out now,’ she said. 
‘ Bower’s presence explains everything.’ Yet I am 
able to state that Miss Wynton was quite unpre- 
pared for his arrival. By chance I was standing 
on the steps when he drove up to the hotel, and 
it was perfectly clear from the words they used 
that neither was aware that the other was in 
Maloja.” 

Spencer leaned over toward the iron-master. 
‘‘ Tell you what,” he said ; “ I’ve changed my mind 
about the trip to England to-morrow. Get up that 
game with Bower. I’ll stand the racket myself un- 
less you want to go half shares.” 

“ Done ! I should like to have an interest in it. 
Not that I am pining for Bower’s money, and it 
may be that he will win ours ; but I am keen on giv- 
ing him a sharp run. At Nice last January not a 
soul in the Casino would go Banco when he opened 
a big bank. They were afraid of him.” 

While he was speaking, Dunston’s shrewd eyes 
dwelt on the younger man’s unmoved face. He won- 
dered what had caused this sudden veering of pur- 
pose. It was certainly not the allurement of heavy 
gambling, for Spencer had declined the proposal 
as coolly as he now accepted it. Being a man of 
the world, he thought he could peer beneath the 
131 


THE SILENT BARRIER 


mask. To satisfy himself, he harked back to the 
personal topic. 

“ By the way, does anyone know who Miss Wyn- 
ton is ? ” he said. “ That inveterate gossip, Mrs. 
Vavasour, who can vouch for every name in the Red 
Book, says she is a lady journalist.” 

“ That, at any rate, is correct,” said the vicar. 
“ In fact. Miss Wynton herself told me so.” 

“ Jolly fine girl, whatever she is. To give 
Bower his due, he has always been a person of 
taste.” 

“ I have reason to believe,” said Spencer, “ that 
Miss Wynton’s acquaintance with Mr. Bower is of 
the slightest.” 

His words were slow and clear. Dunston, sure 
now that his guess was fairly accurate, hastened 
to efface an unpleasant impression. 

“ Of course, I only meant that if Bower is seen 
talking to any woman, it may be taken for granted 
that she is a pretty one,” he explained. “ But who’s 
for a drink Perhaps we shall meet our expected 
opponent in the bar, Mr. Spencer.” 

‘‘ I have some letters to write. Fix that game 
for to-morrow or next day, and I’ll be on hand.” 

Dunston and Holt paid the few shillings they 
owed, and went out. 

Hare did not move. He looked anxious, almost 
annoyed. “ It is exceedingly ridiculous how cir- 
cumstances pass beyond a man’s control occasion- 
ally,” he protested. “ Am I right in assuming that 
13£ 


SOME SKIRMISHING 


until this evening neither Bower nor Dunston was 
known to you, Mr. Spencer ? ” 

“ Absolutely correct, vicar. I have never yet 
spoken to Bower, and you heard all that passed 
between Dunston and myself.” 

“ Then my harmless invitation to you to join 
in a game at cards has led directly to an arrange- 
ment for play at absurdly high figures ? ” 

“ It seems to me, Mr. Hare, that Bower’s tracks 
and mine are destined to cross in more ways than 
one in the near future,” said Spencer coolly. 

But the vicar was not to be switched away from 
the new thought that was troubling him. “ I will 
not ask what you mean,” he said, gazing steadfastly 
at the American. “ My chief concern is the out- 
come of my share in this evening’s pleasant amuse- 
ment. I cannot shut my ears to the fact that you 
have planned the loss or gain of some thousands 
of pounds on the turn of a card at baccarat.” 

‘‘ If it is disagreeable to you ” 

“ How can it be otherwise? I am a broad-minded 
man, and I see no harm whatever in playing bridge 
for pennies; but I am more pained than I care to 
confess at the prospect of such a sequel to our 
friendly meeting to-night. If this thing happens, — 
if a small fortune is won or lost merely to gratify 
Dunston’s whim, — I assure 3"ou that I shall never 
touch a card again as long as I live.” 

Then Spencer laughed. “ That would be too 
bad, Mr. Hare,” he cried. ‘‘ Make your mind easy, 
133 


THE SILENT BARRIER 


The game is off. Count on me for the tenpence 
a hundred limit after dinner to-morrow.” 

“ Now, that is quite good and kind of you. 
Dunston made me very miserable by his mad propo- 
sition, Of course, both he and Bower are rich men, 
men to whom a few thousand pounds are of little 
importance; or, to be accurate, they profess not 
to care whether they win or lose, though their wealth 
is not squandered so heedlessly when it is wanted for 
some really deserving object. But perhaps that 
is uncharitable. My only wish is to thank you 
from the bottom of my heart for your generous 
promise.” 

“ Is Bower so very rich then Have you met 
him before.^^” 

“ He is a reputed millionaire. I read of him in 
the newspapers at times. In my small country par- 
ish such financial luminaries twinkle from a far sky. 
It is true he is a recent light. He made a great 
deal of money in copper, I believe.” 

“ What kind of character do you give him, — 
good, bad, or indifferent?” 

Hare’s benevolent features showed the astonish- 
ment that thrilled him at this blunt question. “ I 
hardly know what to say ” he stammered. 

Spencer liked this cheery vicar and resolved to 
trust him. “ Let me explain,” he said. ‘‘ You and 
I agree in thinking that Miss Wynton is an uncom- 
monly nice girl. I am not on her visiting list at 
present, so my judgment is altruistic. Suppose she 
134 


SOME SKIRjMISHING 


was your daughter or niece, would you care to see 
her left to that man’s mercies? ” 

The clergyman fidgeted a little before he an- 
swered. Spencer was a stranger to him, yet he felt 
drawn toward him. The strong, clear cut face won 
confidence. “ If it was the will of Heaven, I would 
sooner see her in the grave,” he said, with solemn 
candor. 

Spencer rose. He held out his hand. “ I guess 
it’s growing late,” he cried, “ and our talk has swung 
round to a serious point. Sleep well, Mr. Hare. 
That game is dead off.” 

As he passed the bar he heard Bower’s smooth, 
well rounded accents through the half-open door. 

Nothing I should like better,” he was saying. 
“Are you tired? If not, bring your friend to my 
rooms now. Although I have been in the train all 
night, I am fit as a fiddle.” 

“ Let me see. I left him in the smoking room 
with our padre ” 

It was Dunston who spoke; but Bower broke in: 

“ Oh, keep the clergy out of it ! They make such 
a song about these things if they hear of them.” 

“ I was going to say that if he is not there he 
wiU be in his room. He is two doors from me. No. 
61, I think. Shall I fetch him? ” 

“ Do, by all means. By Jove ! I didn’t expect to 
get any decent play here ! ” 

Spencer slipped into a small vestibule where he 
had left a hat and overcoat. He remained there till 
135 


THE SILENT BARRIER 


Dunston crossed the hall and entered the elevator. 
Then he went out, meaning to stroll and smoke in 
the moonlight for an hour. It would be easier to 
back out of the promised game in the morning than 
at that moment. Moreover, in the clear, still air 
he could plan a course of action, the need of which 
was becoming insistent. 

He was blessed, or cursed, with a stubborn will, 
and he knew it. Hitherto, it had been exercised on a 
theory wrapped in hard granite, and the gramite had 
yielded, justifying the theory. Now he was brought 
face to face with a woman’s temperament, and his 
experience of that elusive and complex mixture of 
attributes was of the slightest. Attractive young 
women in Colorado are plentiful as cranberries; but 
never one of them had withdrawn his mind’s eye 
from his work. Why, then, was he so ready now 
to devote his energies to the safeguarding of TIelen 
Wynton It was absurd to pretend that he was 
responsible for her future well-being because of the 
whim that sent her on a holiday. She was well able 
to take care of herself. She had earned her own 
living before he met her; she had risen imperiously 
above the petty malice displayed by some of the 
residents in the hotel; there was a reasonable proba- 
bility that she might become the wife of a man 
highly placed and wealthy. Every consideration 
told in favor of a policy of non-interference. The 
smoking of an inch of good cigar placed the matter 
in such a convincing light that Spencer was half 
136 


SOME SKIRMISHING 


resolved to abide by his earlier decision and leave 
Maloja next morning. 

But the other half, made up of inclination, 
pleaded against all the urging of expediency. He 
deemed the vicar an honest man, and that stout- 
hearted phrase of his stuck. Yet, whether he went 
or stayed, the ultimate solution of the problem lay 
with Helen herself. Once on speaking terms with 
her, he could form a more decided view. It was 
wonderful how one’s estimate of a man or woman 
could be modified in the course of a few minutes’ 
conversation. Well, he would settle things that 
way, and meanwhile enjoy the beauty of a wondrous 
night. 

A full moon was flooding the landscape with a 
brilliance not surpassed in the crystal atmosphere 
of Denver. The snow capped summit of the Cima 
di Rosso was fit to be a peak in Olympus, a silver 
throned height where the gods sat in council. The 
brooding pines perched on the hillside beyond the 
Orlegna looked like a company of gigantic birds with 
folded wings. From the road leading to the village 
he could hear the torrent itself singing its mad song 
of freedom after escaping from the icy caverns of 
the Forno glacier. Quite “Hear, on the right, the 
tiny cascade that marks the first seaward flight of 
the Inn mingled its sweet melody with the orchestral 
thunder of the more distant cataracts plunging 
down the precipices toward Italy. It was a night 
when one might listen to the music of the spheres, 

137 


THE SILENT BARRIER 


and Spencer was suddenly jarred into unpleasant 
consciousness of his surroundings by the raucous 
voices of some peasants bawling a Romansch ballad 
in a wayside wine house. 

Turning sharply on his heel, he took the road by 
the lake. There at least he would find peace from 
the strenuous amours of Margharita as trolled by 
the revelers. He had not gone three hundred yards 
before he saw a woman standing near the low wall 
that guarded the embanked highway from the wa- 
ter. She was looking at the dark mirror of the lake, 
and seemed to be identifying the stars reflected in it. 
Three or four times, as he approached, she tilted 
her head back and gazed at the sky. The skirt of 
a white dress was visible below a heavy ulster; a 
knitted shawl was wrapped loosely over her hair 
and neck, and the ends were draped deftly across 
her shoulders; but before she turned to see who was 
coming along the road Spencer had recognized her. 
Thus, in a sense, he was a trifle the more prepared 
of the two for this unforeseen meeting, and he hailed 
it as supplying the answer to his doubts. 

“ Now,” said he to himself, “ I shall know in ten 
seconds whether or not I travel west by north to- 
morrow.” 

Helen did not avert her glance instantly. Nor 
did she at once resume a stroll evidently interrupted 
to take in deep breaths of the beauty of the scene. 
That was encouraging to the American, — she ex- 
pected him to speak to her. 

138 


SOME SKIRMISHING 


He halted in the middle of the road. If he was 
mistaken, he did not wish to alarm her. “ If you 
will pardon the somewhat unorthodox time and place, 
I should like to make myself known to you, Miss 
Wynton,” he said, lifting his cap. 

“You are Mr. Spencer?” she answered, with a 
frank smile. 

“ Yes, I have a letter of introduction from Mr. 
Mackenzie.” 

“ So have I. What do we do next? Exchange 
letters? Mine is in the hotel.” 

“ Suppose we just shake? ” 

“ Well, that is certainly the most direct way.” 

Their hands met. They were both aware of a 
whiff of nervousness. For some reason, the com- 
monplace greetings of politeness fell awkwardly 
from their lips. In such a predicament a woman may 
always be trusted to find the way out. 

“ It is rather absurd that we should be saying 
how pleased we are that Mr. Mackenzie thought 
of writing those letters, while in reality I am 
horribly conscious that I ought not to be here 
at all, and you are probably thinking that I am 
quite an amazing person,” and Helen laughed light 
heartedly. 

“ That is part of my thought,” said Spencer. 

“ Won’t you tell me the remainder? ” 

“ May I? ” 

“ Please do. I am in chastened mood.” 

“ I wish I was skilled in the trick of words, then 

139 


THE SILENT BARRIER 


I might say something real cute. As it is, I can only 
supply a sort of condensed statement, — something 
about a nymph, a moonlit lake, the spirit of the 
glen, — nice catchy phrases every one, — with a line 
thrown in from Shelley about an ‘ orbed maiden with 
white fire laden.’ Let me go back a hundred yards. 
Miss Wynton, and I shall return with the whole thing 
in order.” 

“ With such material I believe you would bring 
me a sonnet.” 

“ No. I hail from the wild and woolly West, 
where life itself is a poem ; so I stick to prose. 
There is a queer sort of kink in human nature to 
account for that.” 

“ On the principle that a Londoner never hears 
the roar of London, I suppose.? ” 

“ Exactly. An old lady I know once came across 
a remarkable instance of it. She watched a ship- 
wreck, the real article, with all the scenic accessories, 
and when a half drowned sailor was dragged ashore 
she asked him how he felt at that awful moment. 
And what do you think he said.? ” 

“ Very wet,” laughed Helen. 

“ No, that is the other story. This man said 
he was very dry.” 

“ Ah, the one step from the sublime to the ridicu- 
lous, which reminds me that if I remain here much 
longer talking nonsense I shall lose the good opinion 
I am sure you have formed of me from Mr. Macken- 
zie’s letter. Why, it must be after eleven o’clock! 
140 


/ 


SOME SKIRMISHING 


Are you going any farther, or will you walk with 
me to the hotel? ” 

“ If you will allow me ” 

“ Indeed, I shall be very glad of your company. 
I came out to escape my own thoughts. Did you 
ever meet such an unsociable lot of people as our 
fellow boarders, Mr. Spencer? If it was not for 
my work, and the fact that I have taken my room 
for a month, I should hie me forthwith to the beateu 
track of the vulgar but good natured tourist.” 

“ Why not go ? Let me help you to-morrow to 
map out a tour. Then I shall know precisely where 
to waylay you, for I feel the chill here too.” 

‘‘ I wish I could fall in with the first part of your 
proposal, though the second rather suggests that 
you regard Mr. Mackenzie’s letter of introduction 
as a letter of marque.” 

“ At any rate, I am an avowed pirate,” he could 
not help retorting. “ But to keep strictly to busi- 
ness, why not quit if you feel like wandering?” 

“ Because I was sent here, on a journalistic mis- 
sion which I understand less now than when I re- 
ceived it in London. Of course, I am delighted with 
the place. It is the people I — kick at? Is that a 
quite proper Americanism ? ” 

It seems to fit the present case like a glove, or 
may I say, like a shoe? ” 

“ Now you are laughing at me, inwardly of 
course, and I agree with you. Ladies should not 
use slang, nor should they promenade alone in Swiss 
141 


THE SILENT BARRIER 


valleys by moonlight. My excuse is that I did not 
feel sleepy, and the moon tempted me. Good night.” 

They were yet some little distance from the hotel, 
and Spencer was at a loss to account for this sud- 
den dismissal. She saw the look of bewilderment in 
his face. 

“ I have found a back stairs door,” she explained, 
with a smile. “ I really don’t think I should have 
dared to come out at half-past ten if I had to pass 
the Gorgons in the foyer.” 

She flitted away by a side path, leaving Spencer 
more convinced than ever that he had blundered 
€gregiously in dragging this sedate and charming 
girl from the quiet round of existence in London to 
the artificial life of the Kursaal. Some feeling of 
unrest had driven her forth to commune with the 
stars. Was she asking herself why she was denied 
the luxuries showered on the doll-like creatures whose 
malicious tongues were busy the instant Bower set 
foot in the hotel It would be an ill outcome of 
his innocent subterfuge if she returned to England 
discontented and rebellious. She was in “ chastened 
mood,” she had said. He wondered why? Had 
Bower been too confident, — too sure of his prey 
to guard his tongue? Of all the unlooked for devel- 
opments that could possibly be bound up with the 
harmless piece of midsummer madness that sent 
Helen Wynton to Switzerland, surely this roue’s 
presence was the most irritating and perplexing. 

Then from the road came another stanza from 

142 


SOME SKIEJVflSHING 


the wine bibbers, now homeward bound. They were 
still howling about Margharita in long sustained 
cadences. And Spencer knew his Faust. It was to 
the moon that the lovesick maiden confided her 
dreams, and Mephisto was at hand to jog the elbow 
of his bewitched philosopher at exactly the right 
moment. 

Spencer threw his cigar into the gurgling rivulet 
of the Inn. He condemned Switzerland, and the 
Upper Engadine, and the very great majority of 
the guests in the Kursaal, in one emphatic maledic- 
tion, and went to his room, hoping to sleep, but ac- 
tually to lie awake for hours and puzzle his brains 
in vain effort to evolve a satisfying sequel to the 
queer combination of events he had set in motion 
when he ran bare headed into the Strand after 
Bower’s motor car. 


143 


S' 



CHAPTER VIII 


SHADOWS 

‘‘ It is a glorious morning. If the weather holds, 
your first visit to the real Alps should be memo- 
rable,” said Bower. 

Helen had just descended the long flight of steps 
in front of the hotel. A tender purple light filled 
the valley. The nearer hills were silhouetted boldly 
against a sky of primrose and pink; but the misty 
depths where the lake lurked beneath the pines had 
not yet yielded wholly to the triumph of the new 
day. The air had a cold life in it that invigorated 
while it chilled. It resembled some vin frappe of 
rare vintage. Its fragrant vivacity was ready to. 
burst forth at the first encouraging hint of a kind-* 
lier temperature. 

“ Why that dubious clause as to the weather ? ” 
asked Helen, looking at the golden shafts of sun- 
light on the topmost crags of Corvatsch and the Piz 
144 


SHADOWS 


della Margna. Those far off summits were so star- 
tlingly vivid in outline that they seemed to be more 
accessible than the mist shrouded ravines cleaving 
their dun sides. It needed an effort of the imagina- 
tion to correct the erring testimony of the eye. 

“ The moods of the hills are variable, my lady, — 
femininely fickle, in fact. There is a proverb that 
contrasts the wind with woman’s mind; but the dis- 
illusioned male who framed it evidently possessed 
little knowledge of weather changes in the high Alps, 
or else he ” 

“ Did you beguile me out of my cozy room at six 
o’clock on a frosty morning to regale me with stale 
jibes at my sex.? ” 

“ Perish the thought. Miss Wynton ! My only 
intent was to explain that the ancient proverb 
maker, meaning to be rude, might have found a bet- 
ter simile.” 

‘‘ Meanwhile, I am so cold that the only mood left 
in my composition is one of impatience to be 
moving.” 

“ Well, I am ready.” 

“ But where is our guide? ” 

“ He has gone on in front with the porter.” 

“Porter! What is the man carrying?” 

“ The wherewithal to refresh ourselves when we 
reach the hut.” 

“ Oh,” said Helen, “ I had no idea that mountain- 
eering was such a business. I thought the essentials 
were a packet of sandwiches and a flask.” 

145 


THE SILENT BARRIER 


“ You will please not be flippant. Climbing is 
serious work. And you must moderate your pace. 
If you walk at that rate from here to Forno, 
you will be very, very ill before you reach the 
hut.” 

‘‘111! How absurd!” 

“ Not only absurd but disagreeable, — far worse 
than crossing the Channel. Even old hands like me 
are not free from mountain sickness, though it seizes 
us at higher altitudes than we shall reach to-day. In 
the case of a novice, anything in the nature of hur- 
rying during the outward journey is an unfailing 
factor.” 

They were crossing the golf links, and the smooth 
path was tempting to a good walker. Helen smiled 
as she accommodated herself to Bower’s slower stride. 
Though the man might possess experience, the woman 
had the advantage of youth, the unattainable, and 
this wonderful hour after dawn was stirring its 
ichor in her veins. 

“ I suppose that is what Stampa meant when he 
took ‘ Slow and Sure ’ for his motto,” she said. 

“ Stampa! Who is Stampa.? ” 

There was a sudden rasp of iron in his voice. As 
a rule Bower spoke with a cultivated languor that 
almost veiled the staccato accents of the man of 
affairs. Helen was so surprised by this unwarranted 
clang of anger that she looked at him with wide 
open eyes. 

“ He is the driver I told you of, the man who took 

146 


SHADOWS 


the wheel off my carriage during the journey from 
St. Moritz,” she explained. 

“Oh, of course. How stupid of me to forget! 
But, by the way, did you mention his name ? ” 

“ No, I think not. Someone interrupted me. Mr. 

Dunston came and spoke to you ” 

He laughed gayly and drew in deep breaths of the 
keen air. He was carrying his ice ax over his left 
shoulder. With his right hand he brushed away a 
disturbing thought. “By Jove! yes! Dunston 
dragged me off to open a bank at baccarat, and you 
will be glad to hear that I won five hundred pounds.” 

“ I am glad you won ; but who lost so much 
money ” 

“ Dunston dropped the greater part of it. Your 
American friend, Mr. Spencer, was rather inclined 
to brag of his prowess in that direction, it appears. 
He even went so far as to announce his willingness 
to play for four figures ; but he backed out of it.” 

“ Do you mean that Mr. Spencer wanted to stake 
a thousand pounds on a single game at cards ? ” 

“ Evidently he did not want to do it, but he talked 
about it.” 

“ Yet he impressed me as being a very clear-headed 
and sensible young man,” said Helen decisively. 

“ Here, young lady, I must call you to account ! 
In what category do you place me, then ? ” 

“ Oh, you are different. I disapprove of anyone 
playing for such high stakes; but I suppose you 
are used to it and can afford it, whereas a man who 
147 


THE SILENT BARRIER 


has his way to make in the world would be exceed- 
ingly foolish to do such a thing.” 

Pray, how did you come to measure the extent 
of Spencer’s finances ? ” 

“Dear me! Did I say that.'^ ” 

“ I am sorry. Of course, I had no wish to speak 
offensively. What I mean is that he may be quite as 
well able to run a big bank at baccarat as I am.” 

“ He was telling me yesterday of his early strug- 
gles to gain a footing in some mining community in 
Colorado, and the impression his words left on me 
was that he is still far from wealthy; that is, as one 
understands the term. Here we are at the footpath. 
Shall we follow it and scramble up out of the ra- 
vine, or do you prefer the carriage road.'^ ” 

“ The footpath, please. But before we drop the 
subject of cards, which is unquestionably out of 
place on a morning like this, let me say that per- 
haps I have done the American an injustice. 
Dunston is given to exaggeration. He has so lit- 
tle control over his face that it is rank robbery to 
bet with him. Such a man is apt to run to extremes. 
It may be that Spencer was only talking through 
his hat, as they say in New York.” 

Helen had the best of reasons for rejecting this 
version of the story. Her perceptive faculties, al- 
ways well developed, were strung to high tension in 
Maloja. The social pinpricks inflicted there had 
rendered her more alert, more cautious, than was her 
wont. She was quite sure, for instance, judging 
148 


SHADOWS 


from a number of slight indications, that Spencer 
was deliberately avoiding any opportunity of mak- 
ing Bower’s acquaintance. More than once, when an 
introduction seemed to be imminent, the American 
effaced himself. Other men in the hotel were not like 
that — they rather sought the great man’s company. 
She wonderecj if Bower had noticed it. Despite his 
candid, almost generous, disclaimer of motive, there 
was an undercurrent of hostility in his words that 
suggested a feeling of pique. She climbed the rocky 
path in silence until Bower spoke again. 

“How do the boots go?” he asked. 

“ Splendidly, thanks. It was exceedingly kind 
of you to take such trouble about them. I had no 
idea one had to wear such heavy nails, and that 
tip of yours about the extra stockings is excellent.” 

“ You will acknowledge the benefit most during 
the descent. I have known people become abso- 
lutely lame on the home journey through wearing 
boots only just large enough for ordinary walking. 
As for the clamping of the nails over the edges of 
the soles, the sharp stones render that imperative. 
When you have crossed a moraine or two, and a 
peculiarly nasty gerdll that exists beyond the hut, 
if we have time to make an easy ascent, you will 
understand the need of extra strong footwear.” 

Helen favored him with a shy smile. “ Long hours 
of reading have revealed the nature of a moraine,” 
she said ; “ but, please, what is a gerdll? ” 

A slope of loose stones. Let me see, what do 

149 


THE SILENT BARRIER 


they call it in Scotland and Cumberland? Ah, yes, 
a scree. On the French side of the Alps the same 
thing is known as a casse,^ 

“ How well you know this country and its ways ! 
Have you climbed many of the well known peaks ? ” 

“ Some years ago I scored my century beyond 
twelve thousand feet. That is pretty fair for an 
amateur.” 

“ Have you done the Matterhorn ? ” 

“ Yes, four times. Once I followed Tyndall’s ex- 
ample, and converted the summit into a pass be- 
tween Switzerland and Italy.” 

“ How delightful ! I suppose you have met many 
of the famous guides? ” 

He laughed pleasantly. “ One does not attempt 
the Cervin or the Jungfrau without the best men, 
and in my time there were not twenty, all told. I 
had a long talk with our present guide last night, 
and found I had used many a track he had only seen 
from the valley.” 

“ Then ” 

A loud toot on a cowhom close at hand inter- 
rupted her. The artist was a smaU boy. He ap- 
peared to be waiting expectantly on a hillock for 
someone who came not. 

“ Is that a signal? ” she asked. 

“ Yes. He is a gaumer, or cowherd, — another 
word for your Alpine vocabulary, — the burgher j 
whose cattle he will drive to the pasture has probably ; 
arranged to meet him here.” ; 

160 * 


SHADOWS 


Bower was always an interesting and well informed 
companion. Launched now into a congenial topic, 
he gave Helen a thoroughly entertaining lecture on 
the customs of a Swiss commune. He pointed out 
the successive tiers of pastures, told her their names 
and seasons of use, and even hummed some verses of 
the cow songs, or Kuh-reihen, which the men sing to 
the cattle, addressing each animal by name. 

An hour passed pleasantly in this manner. Their 
guide, a man named Josef Barth, and the porter, 
who answered to “ Karl,” awaited them at the milk 
chalet by the side of Lake Cavloccio. Bower, evi- 
dently accustomed to the leadership of expeditions 
of this sort, tested their ice axes and examined the 
ropes slung to Barth’s rucksack. 

“ The Forno is a glacier de luxe,” he explained to 
Helen ; “ but it is always advisable to make sure that 
your appliances are in good order. That picket you 
are carrying was made by the best blacksmith in 
Grindelwald, and you can depend on its soundness; 
but these men are so familiar with their surround- 
ings that they often provide themselves with frayed 
ropes and damaged axes.” 

‘‘ In addition to my boots, therefore, I am in- 
debted to you for a special brand of ice ax,” she cried. 

“ Your gratitude now is as nothing to the ecstasy 
you will display when Karl unpacks his load,” he 
answered lightly. “ Now, Miss Wynton, en route! 
You know the path to the glacier already, don’t 
you?” 


151 


THE SILENT BARRIER 


“ I have been to its foot twice.” 

“ Then you go in front. There is no room to walk 
two abreast. Before we tackle the ice we will call 
a halt for refreshments.” 

From that point till the glacier was reached the 
climb was laboriously simple. There was no diffi- 
culty and not the slightest risk, even for a child; 
but the heavy gradient and the rarefied air made it 
almost impossible to sustain a conversation unless 
the speakers dawdled. Helen often found herself 
many yards in advance of the others. She simply 
could not help breasting the steeper portions of the 
track. She was drawn forward by an intense eager- 
ness to begin the real business of the day. Bower 
did not seek to restrain her. He thought her high 
spirits admirable, and his gaze dwelt appreciatively 
on her graceful poise as she stopped on the crest of 
some small ravine and looked back at the plodders 
beneath. Attractive at all times, she was bewitching 
that morning to a man who prided himself on his 
athletic tastes. She wore a white knitted jersey and 
a short skirt, a costume seemingly devised to reveal 
the lines of a slender waist and supple limbs. A 
white Tam o’ Shanter was tied firmly over her glossy 
brown hair with a silk motor veil, and the stout boots 
which she had surveyed so ruefully when Bower 
brought them to her on the previous evening after 
interviewing the village shoemaker, were by no means 
so cumbrous in use as her unaccustomed eyes had 
deemed them. Even the phlegmatic guide was 
152 


SHADOWS 


stirred to gruff appreciation when he saw her vault 
on to a large flat boulder in order to examine an 
iron cross that surmounted it. 

“ Ach, Gott! ” he grunted, that Englishwoman 
is as surefooted as a chamois.” 

But Helen had found a name and a date on a 
triangular strip of metal attached to the cross. 
‘‘Why has this memorial been placed here.?” she 
asked. Bower appealed to Barth; but he shook his 
head. Karl gave details. 

“ A man fell on the Cima del Largo. They car- 
ried him here, and he died on that rock.” 

“Poor fellow!” Some of the joyous light left 
Helen’s face. She had passed the cross before, and 
had regarded it as one of the votive offerings so 
common by the wayside in Catholic countries, know- 
ing that in this part .of Switzerland the Italian ele- 
ment predominated among the peasants. 

“ We get a fine view of the Cima del Largo from 
the cobane,'"' said Bower unconcernedly. 

Helen picked a little blue flower that nestled at 
the base of the rock. She pinned it to her jersey 
without comment. Sometimes the callousness of a 
man was helpful, and the shadow of a bygone 
tragedy was out of keeping with the glow of this 
delightful valley. 

The curving mass of the glacier was now clearly 
visible. It looked like some marble staircase meant 
to be trodden only by immortals. Ever broadening 
and ascending until it filled the whole width of the 
153 


THE SILENT BARRIER 


rift between the hills, it seemed to mount upward 
to infinity. The sidelong rays of the sun, peeping 
over the shoulders of Eorno and Roseg, tinted the 
great ice river with a sapphire blue, while its higher | 
reaches glistened as though studded with gigantic - 
diamonds. Near at hand, where the Orlegna rushed | 
noisily from thraldom, the broken surface was som- ■ 
ber and repellent. In color a dull gray, owing to ^ 
the accumulation of winter debris and summer dust, j 
it had the aspect of decay and death; it was jagged i 
and gaunt and haggard; the far flung piles of the 
white moraine imposed a stony barrier against its j 
farther progress. But that unpleasing glimpse of 
disruption was quickly dispelled by the magnificent 
volume and virgin purity of the glacier as a whole, j 
Helen tried to imagine herself two miles distant, a 
tiny speck on the great floor of the pass. That was ; 
the only way to grasp its stupendous size, though j 
she knew that it mounted through five miles of rock ^ 
strewn ravine before it touched the precipitous sad- \ 
die along which runs the border line between Italy i 
and Switzerland. ^ 

Karl’s sigh of relief as he deposited his heavy 
load on a tablelike boulder brought Helen back from 
the land of dreams. To this sturdy peasant the i 
wondrous Forno merely represented a day’s hard 
work, at an agreed sum of ten francs for carrying ' 
nearly half a hundredweight, and a liberal pour- | 
hoire if the voyageurs were satisfied. 

Sandwiches and a glass of wine, diluted with wa- 

154 } 


SHADOWS 


ter brought by the guide from a neighboring rill, — 
glacier v/ater being used only as a last resource, — 
were delectable after a steady two hours’ walk. The 
early morning meal of coffee and a roll had lost 
some of its flavor when consumed apparently in the 
middle of the night, and Helen was ready now for 
her breakfast. While they were eating, Bower and 
Josef Barth cast glances at some wisps of cloud 
drifting slowly over the crests of the southern hills. 
Nothing was said. The guide read his patron’s 
wishes correctly. Unless some cause far more im- 
perative than a slight mist intervened, the day’s 
programme must not be abandoned. So there was 
no loitering. The sun was almost in the valley, and 
the glacier must be crossed before the work of the 
night’s frost was undone. 

When they stepped from the moraine on to the 
ice Barth led, Helen followed. Bower came next, with 
Karl in the rear. 

If it had not been for the crisp crunching sound 
of the hobnails amid the loose fragments on the sur- 
face, and the ring of the picTceVs steel-shod butt on 
the solid mass beneath, Helen might have fancied 
that she was walking up an easy rock-covered slope. 
Any delusion on that point, however, was promptly 
dispelled by a glimpse of a narrow crevasse that split 
the foot of the glacier lengthwise. 

She peered into its sea-green depths awesomely. 
It resembled a toothless mouth gaping slowly open,.. 
ready enough to swallow her, but too inert to put 
155 


THE SILENT BARRIER 


forth the necessary effort. And the thought re- 
minded her of something. She halted and turned to 
Bower. 

“ Ought we not to be roped ” she asked. 

He laughed, with the quiet confidence of the ex- 
pert mountaineer. “ Why ? ” he cried. “ The way 
is clear. One does not walk into a crevasse with 
one’s eyes open.” 

“ But Stampa told me that I should refuse to 
advance a yard on ice or difficult rock without being 
roped.” 

“ Stampa, your cab driver? ” 

There was no reason that she could fathom why 
her elderly friend’s name should be repeated with 
such scornful emphasis. 

“ Ah, yes. He is that because he is lame,” she 
protested. “ But he was one of the most famous 
guides in Zermatt years ago.” 

She swung round and appealed to Barth, who was 
wondering why his employers were stopping before 
they had climbed twenty feet. “Are you from 
Zermatt?” she demanded. 

“ No, frdulein — from Pontresina. Zermatt is a 
long way from here.” 

“ But you know some of the Zermatt men, I sup- 
pose ? Have you ever heard of Christian Stampa ? ” 

“ Most certainly, frdulein. My father helped him 
to build the first hut on the Homli Ridge.” 

“Old Stampa!” chimed in Karl from beneath. 
“ It will be long ere he is forgotten. I was one of 
156 


SHADOWS 

four who carried him down from Corvatsch to Sils- 
Maria the day after he fell. He was making the 
descent by night, — a mad thing to do, — and there 
was murder in his heart, they said. But I never 
believed it. We shared a bottle of Monte Pulciano 
only yesterday, just for the sake of old times, and 
he was as merry as Hans von Rippach himself.” 

Bower was stooping, so Helen could not see his 
face. He seemed to be fumbling with a boot lace. 

“ You hear, Mr. Bower.? ” she cried. I am quot- 
ing no mean authority.” 

He did not answer. He had untied the lace and 
was readjusting it. The girl realized that to a man 
of his portly build his present attitude was not con- 
ducive to speech. It had an additional effect which 
did not suggest itself to her. The effort thus de- 
manded from heart and lungs might bring back the 
blood to a face blanched by a deadly fear. 

Karl was stocked with reminiscences of Stampa. 
“ I remember the time when people said Christian 
was the best man in the Bernina,” he said. “ He 
would never go back to the Valais after his daughter 
died. It was a strange thing that he should come to 
grief on a cowherd’s track like that over Corvatsch. 
But Etta’s affair ” 

“ Schweige! ” snarled Bower, straightening him- 
self suddenly. His dark eyes shot such a gleam of 
lambent fury at the porter that the man’s jaw fell. 
The words were frozen on his lips. He could not 
have been stricken dumb more effectually had he 
,157 


THE SILENT BARRIER 


come face to face with one of the horrific sprites 
described in the folklore of the hills. 

Helen was surprised. What had poor Karl done 
that he should be bidden so fiercely to hold his 
tongue.? Then she thought that Bower must have 
recalled Stampa’s history, and feared that perhaps 
the outspoken peasant might enter into a piquant 
account of some village scandal. A chambermaid 
in the hotel, questioned about Stampa, had told her 
that the daughter he loved so greatly had committed i 
suicide. Really, she ought to be grateful to her . 
companion for saving her from a passing embarrass- j 
ment. But she had the tact not to drop the sub- ] 
ject too quickly. j 

“ If Barth and you agree that roping is unneces- J 
sary, of course I haven’t a word to say in the mat- jj 
ter,” she volunteered. “ It was rather absurd of me j 
to mention it in the first instance.” | 

“ No, you were right. I have never seen Stampa; i 
but his name is familiar. It occurs in most Alpine i 
records. Barth, fix the rope before we go farther. i 
The frdulein wishes it.” } 

The rush of color induced by physical effort — 
effort of a tensity that Helen was wholly unaware 
of — was ebbing now before a numbing terrqr that 
had come to stay. His face was drawn and livid. 

His voice had the metallic ring in it that the girl 
had detected once already that day. Again she ex- | 
perienced a sense of bewilderment that he should | 
regard a trivial thing so seriously. She was not a ; 


158 


SHADOWS 


child. The world of to-day pulsated with far too 
many stories of tragic passion that she should be 
shielded so determinedly from any hint of an episode 
that doubtless wrung the heart’s core of this quiet 
valley one day in August sixteen years ago. In some 
slight degree Bower’s paroxysm of anger was a re- 
flection on her own good taste, for she had unwit- 
tingly given rise to it. 

Nevertheless, she felt indebted to him. To ex- 
tricate both Bower and herself from an awkward 
situation she took a keen interest in Barth’s method 
of adjusting the rope. The man did not show any 
amazement at Bower’s order. He was there to earn 
his fee. Had these mad English told him to cut 
steps up the gentle slope in front he would have 
obeyed without protest, though it was more than 
strange that this much traveled voyageur should 
adopt such a needless precaution. 

As a matter of fact, under Barth’s guidance, a 
blind cripple could have surmounted the first kilo- 
meter of the Forno glacier. The track lay close to 
the left bank of the moraine. It curved slightly to 
the right and soon the exquisite panorama of Monto 
Roseg, the Cima di Rosso, Monte Sissone, Piz Tor- 
rone, and the Gastello group opened up before the 
climbers. Helen was enchanted. Twice she half 
turned to address some question to Bower; but on 
each occasion she happened to catch him in the act 
of swallowing some brandy from a flask. Governed 
by an unaccountable timidity, she pretended not to 
159 


THE SILENT BARRIER 


notice his actions, and diverted her words to Barth, 
who told her the names of the peaks and pointed to 
the junctions of minor ice fields with the main artery 
of the Forno. 

Bower did not utter a syllable until they struck 
out toward the center of the glacier. A crevasse 
some ten feet in width and seemingly hundreds 
of feet deep, barred the way ; but a bridge of 
ice, covered with snow, offered safe transit. The 
snow carpet showed that a number of climbers had 
passed quite recently in both directions. Even 
Helen, somewhat awed by the dimensions of the rift, 
understood that the existence of this natural arch 
was as well recognized by Alpinists as Waterloo 
Bridge is known to dwellers on the south side of the 
Thames. 

“ Now, Miss Wynton, you should experience your 
first real thrill,” said Bower. “ This bridge forms 
here every year at this season, and an army might 
cross in safety. It is the genuine article, the first 
and strongest of a series. Yet here you cross the 
Rubicon. A mixture of metaphors is allowable in 
high altitudes, you know.” 

Helen, almost startled at first by the unaffected 
naturalness of his words, was unfeignedly relieved 
at finding him restored to the normal. Usually his 
supply of light-hearted badinage was unceasing. He 
knew exactly when and how to season it with more 
serious statements. It is this rare quality that makes 
tolerable a long day’s solitude a deux, 

160 


SHADOWS 


“ I am not Caesar’s wife,” she replied ; “ but for 
the credit of womankind in general I shall act as 
though I was above suspicion — of nervousness.” 

She did not look round. Barth was moving 
quickly, and she had no desire to burden him with 
a drag on the rope. When she was in the center 
of the narrow causeway, a snow comice in the lip 
of the crevasse detached itself under the growing 
heat of the sun and shivered down into the green 
darkness. The incident brought her heart into her 
mouth. It served as a reminder that this solid ice 
river was really in a state of constant change and 
movement. 

Bower laughed, with all his customary gayety of 
manner. “ That came at a dramatic moment,” he 
said. ‘‘ Too bad it could not let you pass without 
giving you a quake ! ” 

“ I am not a bit afraid.” 

“ Ah, but I can read your thoughts. There is 
a bond of sympathy between us.” 

‘‘ Hemp is a non-conductor.” 

“ You are willfully misunderstanding me,” he re- 
torted. 

“No. I honestly believed you felt the rope quiver 
a little.” 

“ Alas ! it is the atmosphere. My compliments 
fall on idle ears.” 

Barth interrupted this play of harmless chaff by 
jerking some remark over his shoulder. “ Looks 
like a he said gruffly. 

161 


THE SILENT BARRIER 


‘‘ Nonsense ! ” said Bower, — “ a bank of mist. 
The sun will soon melt it.” 

“ It’s a guxe^ right enough,” chimed in Karl, who 
had recovered his power of speech. ‘‘ That is why 
the boy was blowing his horn — to show he was bring- 
ing the cattle home.” 

“ Well, then, push on. The sooner we are in the 
hut the better.” 

“ Please, what is a guxe? ” asked Helen, when the 
men had nothing more to say. 

“ A word I would have wished to add later to 
your Alpine phrase book. It means a storm, a 
blizzard.” 

“ Should we not return at once in that event ^ ” 

‘‘What? Who said just now she was not 
afraid?” 

“ But a storm in such a place ! ” 

“ These fellows smell a tourmente in every little 
cloud from the southwest. We may have some wind 
and a light snowfall, and that will be an experience 
for you. Surely you can trust me not to run any 
real risk? ” 

“ Oh, yes. I do, indeed. But I have read of people 
being caught in these storms and suffering terribly.” 

“ Not on the Fomo, I assure you. I don’t wish to 
minimize the perils of your first ascent ; but it is 
only fair to say that this is an exhibition glacier. 
If it was nearer town you would find an orchestra in 
each amphitheater up there, with sideshows in every 
couloir. Jesting apart, you are absolutely safe with 
162 


SHADOWS 


Barth and me, not to mention the irrepressible gen- 
tleman who carries our provisions.” 

Helen was fully alive to the fact that a woman 
who joins a mountaineering party should not impose 
her personal doubts on men who are willing to go 
on. She flourished her ice ax bravely, and cried, 
“ Excelsior ! ” 

In the next instant she regretted her choice of 
expression. The moral of Longfellow’s poem might 
be admirable, but the fate of its hero was unpleas- 
antly topical. Again Bower laughed. 

“ Ah ! ” he said. “ Will you deny now that I am 
a first rate receiver of wireless messages ” 

She had no breath left for a quip. Barth was 
hurrying, and the thin air was beginning to have 
its effect. When an unusually smooth stretch of 
ice permitted her to take her eyes from the track for 
a moment she looked back to learn the cause of such 
haste. To her complete astonishment, the Maloja 
Pass and the hills beyond it were dissolved in a thick 
mist. A monstrous cloud was sweeping up the 
Orlegna Valley. As yet, it was making for the 
Muretto Pass rather than the actual ravine of the 
Fomo; but a few wraiths of vapor were sailing high 
overhead, and it needed no weatherwise native to pre- 
dict that ere long the glacier itself would be covered 
by that white pall. She glanced at Bower. 

He smiled cheerfully. “ It is nothing,” he mur- 
mured. 

“ I really don’t care,” she said. “ One does 


THE SILENT BARRIER 


not shirk an adventure merely because it is disa- 
greeable. The pity is that all this lovely sunshine 
must vanish.” 

“ It will reappear. You will be charmed with the 
novelty in an hour or less.” 

“Is it far to the hut.?^” 

“ Hardly twenty minutes at our present pace.” 

A growl from Barth stopped their brief talk. An- 
other huge crevasse yawned in front. There was an 
ice bridge, with snow, like others they had crossed; 
but this was a slender structure, and the leader 
stabbed it viciously with the butt of his ax before he 
ventured on it. The others kept the rope taut, and 
he crossed safely. They followed. As Helen gained 
the further side she heard Bower’s chuckle: 

“Another thriU!” 

“ I am growing quite used to them,” she said. 

“ Well, it may help somewhat if I tell you that 
the temporary departure of the sun will cause this 
particular bridge to be ten times as strong when we 
return.” 

“ Attention ! ” cried Barth, taking a sharp turn 
to the left. The meaning of his warning was soon 
apparent. They had to descend a few feet of rough 
ice, and Helen found, to her great relief it must be 
confessed, that they were approaching the lateral 
moraine. Already the sky was overcast. The 
glacier had taken to itself a cold gray ness that was 
disconcerting. The heavy mist fell on them with in- 
conceivable rapidity. Shining peaks and towering 
164 . 


SHADOWS 


precipices of naked rock were swept out of sight 
each instant. The weather had changed with a 
magical speed. The mist advanced with the rush 
of an express train, and a strong wind sprang up 
as though it had burst through a restraining wall 
and was bent on overwhelming the daring mortals 
who were penetrating its chosen territory. 

Somehow — anyhow — Helen scrambled on. She 
was obliged to keep eyes and mind intent on each 
step. Her chief object was to imitate Barth, to 
poise, and jump, and clamber with feet and hands 
exactly as he did. At this stage the rope was ob- 
viously a hindrance; but none of the men suggested 
its removal, and Helen had enough to occupy her 
wits without troubling them by a question. Even 
in the stress of her own breathless exertions she had 
room in her mind for a wondering pity for the heav- 
ily laden Karl. She marveled that anyone, be he 
strong as Samson, could carry such a load and not 
fall under it. Yet he was lumbering along behind 
Bower with a clumsy agility that was almost super- 
natural to her thinking. She was still unconscious 
of the fact that most of her own struggles were due 
more to the rarefied air than to the real difficulties 
of the route. 

At last, when she really thought she must cry out 
for a rest, when a steeper climb than any hitherto 
encountered had bereft her almost of the power to 
take another upward spring to the ledge of some 
enormous boulder, when her knees and ankles were 
165 


THE SILENT BARRIER 


sore and bruised, and the skin of her fingers was 
beginning to fray under her stout gloves, she found 
herself standing on a comparatively level space 
formed of broken stones. A rough wall, surmounted 
by a flat pitched roof, stared at her out of the mist. 
In the center of the wall a small, square, shuttered 
window suggested a habitation. Her head swam, 
and her eyes ached dreadfully; but she knew that 
this was the hut, and strove desperately to appear 
self possessed. 

“ Accept my congratulations. Miss Wynton,” said 
a low voice at her ear. Not one woman in a thou- 
sand would have gone through that last half-hour 
without a murmur. You are no longer a novice. 
Allow me to present you with the freedom of the 
Alps. This is one of the many chateaux at your 
disposal.” 

A wild swirl of sleet lashed them venomously. 
This first whip of the gale seemed to have the spite- 
fulness of disappointed rage. 

Helen felt her arm grasped. Bower led her to a 
doorway cunningly disposed out of the path of the 
dreaded southwest wind. At that instant all the 
woman in her recognized that the man was big, 
and strong, and self reliant, and that it was good 
to have him near, shouting reassuring words that 
were whirled across the rock-crowned glacier by the 
violence of the tempest. 


166 



CHAPTER IX 
Etta’s father ” 

Though the hut was a crude thing, a triumph of 
essentials over luxuries, Helen had never before 
hailed four walls and a roof with such heartfelt, if 
silent, thanksgiving. She sank exhausted on a rough 
bench, and watched the matter-of-fact Engadiners 
unpacking the stores and firewood carried in their 
rucksacks. Their businesslike air supplied the tonic 
she needed. Though the howling storm seemed to 
threaten the tiny refuge with destruction, these two 
men set to work, coolly and methodically, to prepare 
a meal. Barth arranged the contents of Karl’s 
f bulky package on a small table, and the porter 
busied himself with lighting a fire in a Swiss stove 
that stood in the center of the outer room. An 
inner apartment loomed black and uninviting through 
an open doorway. Helen discovered later that some 
scanty accommodation was provided there for those 
167 


THE SILENT BARRIER 


whb meant to sleep in the hut in readiness for aa 
early ascent, while it supplied a separate room in 
the event of women taking part in an expedition. 

Bowser offered her a quantity of brandy and wa- 
ter. She declined it, declaring that she needed only 
time to regain her breath. He was a man who might 
be trusted not to pester anyone with well meant but 
useless attentions. He went to the door, lit a 
cigarette, and seemed to be keenly interested in the 
sleet as it pelted the moraine or gathered in drifts in 
the minor fissures of the glacier. 

Within a remarkably short space of time, Karl 
had concocted two cups of steaming coffee. Helen 
was then all aglow. Her strength was restored. 
The boisterous wind had crimsoned her cheeks be- 
neath the tan. She had never looked such a picture 
of radiant womanhood as after this tussle with the 
storm. Luckily her clothing was not wet, since the 
travelers reached the cahane at the very instant the 
elements became really aggressive. It was a quite 
composed and reinvigorated Helen who summoned 
Bower from his contemplation of the weather 
portents. 

“We may be besieged,” she cried; “but at any 
rate we are not on famine rations. What a spread! 
You could hardly have brought more food if you 
fancied we might be kept here a week.” 

The sustained physical effort called for during 
the last part of the climb seemed to have dispelled his 
fit of abstraction. Being an eminently adaptable 
168 


“ ETTA’S FATHER ” 

man, he responded to her mood. “ Ah, that sounds 
more like the enthusiast who set forth so gayly from 
the Kursaal this morning,” he answered, pulling the 
door ajar before he took a seat by her side on the 
bench. “A few minutes ago you were ready to con- 
demn me as several kinds of idiot for going on in 
the teeth of our Switzers’ warnings. Now, con- 
fess ! ” 

‘‘ I don’t think I could have climbed another ten 
yards,” she admitted. 

“ Our haste was due to Barth’s anxiety. He 
wanted to save you from a drenching. It was a 
near thing, and with the thermometer falling a de- 
gree a minute soaked garments might have brought 
very unpleasant consequences. But that was our 
only risk. Old mountaineer as I am, I hardly ex- 
pected such a blizzard in August, after such short 
notice too. Otherwise, now that we are safely 
housed, you are fortunate in securing a memorable 
experience. The storm will soon blow over ; but 
it promises to be lively while it lasts.” 

Helen was sipping her coffee. Perhaps her eyes 
conveyed the question her tongue hesitated to utter. 
Bower smiled pleasantly, and gesticulated with hands 
and shoulders in a way that was foreign to his 
studiously cultivated English habit of repose. In- 
deed, with his climber’s garb he seemed to have ac- 
quired a new manner. There was a perplexing 
change in him since the morning. 

“ Yes,” he said. “ I understand perfectly. You 

169 


THE SILENT BARRIER 


and I might sing lieder ohne worte. Miss Wynton. 
I have known these summer gales to last four days; 
but pray do not be alarmed,” for Helen nearly 
dropped her cup in quick dismay ; “ my own opinion 
is that we shall have a delightful afternoon. Of 
course, I am a discredited prophet. Ask Barth.” 

The guide, hearing his name mentioned, glanced 
at them, though he was engaged at the moment in 
taking the wrappings off a quantity of bread, qold 
chicken, and slices of ham and beef. He agreed 
with Bower. The barometer stood high when they 
left the hotel. He thought, as all men think who 
live in the open, that “ the sharper the blast the 
sooner it’s past.” 

“ Moreover,” broke in Karl, who refused to be left 
out of the conversation, “ Johann Klucker’s cat was 
sitting with its back to the stove last evening.” 

This bit of homely philosophy brought a ripple 
of laughter from Helen, whereupon Karl explained. 

“ Cats are very wise, frdulein. Johann Klucker’s 
cat is old. Therefore she is skilled in reading the 
tokens of the weather. A cat hates wind and rain, 
and makes her arrangements accordingly. If she 
washes herself smoothly, the next twelve hours will 
be fine. If she licks against the grain, it will be 
wet. When she lies with her back to the fire, there 
will surely be a squall. When her tail is up and her 
"Coat rises, look out for wind.” 

‘‘ Johann Klucker’s cat has settled the dispute,” 
«aid Bower gravely in English. “ A squall it is, — 
170 


“ ETTA’S FATHER ” 


a most suitable prediction for a cat, — and I am once 
more rehabilitated in your esteem, I hope? ” 

A cold iridescence suddenly illumined the gloomy 
interior of the hut. It gave individuality to each 
particle of sleet whirling past the door. Helen 
thought that the sun had broken through the storm 
clouds for an instant; but Bower said quietly: 

“Are you afraid of lightning?” 

“ Not very. I don’t like it.” 

“ Some people collapse altogether when they see 
it. Perhaps when forewarned you are forearmed.” 

A low rumble boomed up the valley, and the moun- 
tain echoes muttered in solemn chorus. 

“ We are to be spared none of the scenic accesso- 
ries, then?” said Helen. 

“ None. In fact, you will soon see and hear a 
thunder storm that would have delighted Gustave 
Dore. Please remember that it cannot last long, 
and that this hut has been built twenty years to my 
knowledge.” 

Helen sipped her coffee, but pushed away a plate 
set before her by Barth. “If you don’t mind, I 
should like the door wide open,” she said. 

“You prefer to lunch later?” 

“ Yes.” 

^ And you wish to face the music — is that it? ” 

“ I think so.” 

“ Let me remind you that Jove’s thunderbolts are 
really forged on the hilltops.” 

“ I am here ; so I must make the best of it. I 

171 


THE SILENT BARRIER 


shall not scream, or faint, if that is what you 
dread.” 

“ I dread nothing but your anger for not having 
turned back when a retreat was possible. I hate 
turning back. Miss Wynton. I have never yet 
withdrawn from any enterprise seriously undertaken, 
and I was determined to share your first ramble 
among my beloved hills.” 

Another gleam of light, bluer and more pene- 
trating than its forerunner, lit the brown rafters 
of the cahane. It was succeeded by a crash like the 
roar of massed artillery. The walls trembled. Some 
particles of mortar rattled noisily to the floor. A 
strange sound of rending, followed by a heavy thud, 
suggested something more tangible than thunder- 
bolts. Bower kicked the door and it swung inward. 

“ An avalanche,” he said. “ Probably a rockfall 
too. Of course, the hut stands clear of the track 
of unpleasant visitors of that description.” 

Helen had not expected this courageous bearing 
in a man of Bower’s physical characteristics. Hith- 
erto she had regarded him as somewhat self indul- 
gent, a Sybarite, the product of modernity in its 
London aspects. His demeanor in the train, in the 
hotel, bespoke one accustomed to gratify the flesh, 
who found all the world ready to pander to his de- 
sires. Again she was conscious of that instinctive 
trustfulness a woman freely reposes in a dominant 
man. Oddly enough, she thought of Spencer in the 
same breath. An hour earlier, had she been asked 
172 


“ ETTA’S FATHER ” 


which of these two would command her confidence 
during a storm, her unhesitating choice would have 
favored the American. Now, she was at least sure 
that Bower’s coolness was not assumed. His atti- 
tude inspired emulation. She rose and went to the 
door. 

“ I want to see an avalanche,” she cried. “ Where 
did that one fall.'^ ” 

Bower followed her. He spoke over her shoulder. 
“ On Monte Roseg, I expect. The weather seems 
to be clearing slightly. This tearing wind will soon 
roll up the mist, and the thunder will certainly start 
another big rock or a snowslide. If you are lucky, 
you may witness something really fine.” 

A dazzling flash leaped over the glacier. Al- 
though the surrounding peaks were as yet invisible 
through the haze of sleet and vapor, objects near 
at hand were revealed with uncanny distinctness. 
Each frozen wave on the surfaec of the ice was 
etched in sharp lines. A cluster of seracs on a 
neighboring icefall showed all their mad chaos. The 
blue green chasm of a huge crevasse was illumined 
to a depth far below any point to which the rays 
of the sun penetrated. On the neighboring slope 
of Monte Roseg the crimson and green and yellow 
mosses were given sudden life against the black back- 
ground of rock. Every boulder here wore a somber 
robe. They were stark and grim. The eye instantly 
caught the contrast to their gray- white fellows piled 
on the lower moraine or in the bed of the Orlegna. 
173 


THE SILENT BARRIER 


Helen was quick to note the new tone of black 
amid the vividly white patches of snow. She waited 
until the deafening thunder peal was dying away in 
eerie cadences. “ Why are the rocks black here 
and almost white in the valley ? ” she asked. 

“ Because they are young, as rocks go,” was the 
smiling answer. “ They have yet to pass through 
the mill. They will be battered and bruised and pol- 
ished before they emerge from the glacier several 
years hence and a few miles nearer peace. In that 
they resemble men. ’Pon my word. Miss Wynton, 
you have caused me to evolve a rather poetic ex- 
planation of certain gray hairs I have noticed of late 
among my own raven locks.” 

“ You appear to know and love these hills so well 
that I wonder — if you will excuse a personal re- 
mark — I wonder you ever were able to tear yourself 
away from them.” 

“ I have missed too much of real enjoyment in 
the effort to amass riches,” he said slowly. “ Be- 
lieve me, that thought has held me since — since you 
and I set foot on the Forno together.” 

But you knew ? You were no stranger to the 
Alps.? I am beginning to understand that one can- 
^ not claim kinship with the high places until they 
stir the heart more in storm than in sunshine. When 
I saw all these giants glittering in the sun like 
knights in silver armor, I described them to myself 
as gloriously beautiful. Now I feel that they are 
more than that, — they are awful, pitiless in their 
174i 


“ ETTA’S FATHER ” 


indifference to frail mortals; they carry me into a 
dim region where life and death are terms without 
meaning.” 

Yes, that is the true spirit of the mountains. 
I too used to look on them with affectionate rever- 
ence, and you recall the old days. Perhaps, if I am 
deemed worthy, you will teach me the cult once 
more.” 

He bent closer. Helen became conscious that in 
her enthusiasm she had spoken unguardedly. She 
moved away, slightly but unmistakably, a step or 
two out into the open, for the hut on that side was 
not exposed to the bitter violence of the wind. 

“ It is absurd to imagine us in a change of role,” 
she cried. “ I should play the poorest travesty of 
Mentor to your Telemachus. Oh! What is that.?” 

While she was speaking, another blinding flare 
of lightning flooded moraine and glacier and pierced 
the veil of sleet. Her voice rose almost to a shriek. 
Bower sprang forward. His left hand rested reas- 
suringly across her shoulders. 

“ Better come inside the hut,” he began. 

But I saw someone — a white face — staring at 
me down there I ” 

It is possible. There is no cause for fear. A 
party may have crossed from Italy. There would 
be none from the Maloja at this hour.” 

Helen was actually trembling. Bower drew her 
a little nearer. He himself was unnerved, a prey 
to wilder emotions than she could guess till later 
175 


THE SILENT BARRIER 


days brought a fuller understanding. It was a mad 
trick of fate that threw the girl into his embrace 
just then, for another far-flung sheet of fire re- 
vealed to her terrified vision the figures of Spencer 
and Stampa on the rocks beneath. With brutal can- 
dor, the same flash showed her nestling close to 
Bower. For some reason, she shuddered. Though 
the merciful gloom of the next few seconds restored 
her faculties, her face and neck were aflame. She 
almost felt that she had been detected in some fault. 
Her confusion was not lessened by hearing a mut- 
tered curse from her companion. Careless of the 
stinging sleet, she leaped down to a broad tier of 
rock below the plateau of the hut and cried shrilly : 

“Is that really you, Mr. Spencer.?” 

A more tremendous burst of thunder than any 
yet experienced dwarfed all other sounds for an 
appreciable time. The American scrambled up, al- 
most at her feet, and stood beside her. Stampa came 
quick on his heels, moving with a lightness and ac- 
curacy of foothold amazing in one so lame. 

“ Just me. Miss Wynton. Sorry if I have fright- 
ened you, but our old friend here was insistent that 
we should hurry. I have been tracking you since 
nine o’clock.” 

Spencer’s words were nonchalantly polite. He 
even raised his cap, though the fury of the ice laden 
blast might well have excused this formal act of 
courtesy. Helen was still blushing so painfully that 
she became angry with herself, and her voice was 
176 



Louis Tracy Productions. I tc. 





« ETTA^S FATHER ” 


hardly under control. Nevertheless, she managed to 
say: 

' “ How kind and thoughtful of you ! I am all 

right, as you see. Mr. Bower and the guide were 
able to bring me here before the storm broke. We 
happened to be standing near the door, watching the 
• lightning. When I caught a glimpse of you I was 
so stupidly startled that I screamed and almost fell 
j ^ into Mr. Bower’s arms.” 

Put in that way, it did not sound so distressing. 
And Spencer had no desire to add further difficul- 
j ties to a situation already awkward. 

“ Guess you scared me too,” he said. “ I sup- 
pose, now we are at the hut, Stampa will not object 
to my waiting five minutes or so before we start 
for home.” 

“ Surely you will lunch with us. Everything is 
; i set out on the table, and we have food enough for 
ij a regiment.” 

v “ You would need it if you remained here another 
1 couple of hours. Miss Wynton. Stampa tells me that 
a first rate guxe, which is Swiss for a blizzard, I 
» believe, is blowing up. This thunder storm is the 
H preliminary to a heavy downfall of snow. That 
is why I came. If we are not off the glacier before 
m two o’clock, it will become impassable till a lot of 
the snow melts.” 

“ What is that you are saying.? ” demanded 
j Bower bruskly. Helen and the two men had reached 
r the level of the cabane; but Stampa, thinking they 
f 177 


THE SILENT BARRIER 


doubts from his heart and brain. He wanted to 
woo and win Helen for his wife. He was enmeshed 
in a net of his own contriving, and its strands were 
too strong to be broken. If Helen was reft from 
him now, he would gaze on a darkened world for 
many a day. 

But he was endowed with a splendid self control. 
That element of cast steel in his composition, dis- 
covered by Dunston after five minutes’ acquaintance, 
kept him rigid under the strain. 

“ Sorry I should figure as spoiling your excur- 
sion, Miss Wynton,” he was able to say calmly; 

but, when all is said and done, the weather is bad, 
and you will have plenty of fine days later.” 

Bower crept nearer. His action suggested stealth. 
Although the wind was howling under the deep eaves 
of the hut, he almost whispered. “ Yes, you are 
right — quite right. Let us go now — at once. With 
you dhd me, Mr. Spencer, Miss Wynton will be 
safe — safer than with the guides. They can follow 
with the stores. Come! There is no time to be 
lost!” 

The others were so taken aback by his astounding 
change of front that they were silent for an in- 
stant. It was Helen who protested, firmly enough. 

“ The lightning seems to have given us an attack 
of nerves,” she said. “ It would be ridiculous to rush 
off in that manner ” 

“ But there is peril — real peril — in delay. I ad- 
mit it. I was wrong.” 


180 


« ETTA’S FATHER ” 


Bower’s anxiety was only too evident. Spencer, 
regarding him from a single viewpoint, deemed him 
a coward, and his gorge rose at the thought. 

“ Oh, nonsense ! ” he cried contemptuously. “ We 
shall be two hours on the glacier, so five more min- 
utes won’t cut any ice. If you have food and drink 
in there, Stampa certainly wants both. We all need 

them. We have to meet that gale all the way. "The 
two hours may become three before we reach the 
path.” 

Helen guessed the reason of his disdain. It was 
unjust; but the moment did not permit of a hint 
that he was mistaken. To save Bower from further 
commitment — which, she was convinced, was due en- 
tirely to regard for her own safety — she went into^ 
the hut. ' 

‘‘ Stampa,” she said, “ I am very much obliged! 
to you for taking so much trouble. I suppose we 
may eat something before we start ” 

“ Assuredly, frdulein,^^ he cried. “ Am I not here.?* 
Were it to begin to snow at once, I could still bring 
you unharmed to the chalets.” 

Josef Barth had borne Stampa’s reproaches with 
surly deference;, but he refused to be degraded in 
this fashion — before Karl, too, whose tongue wagged^ 
so loosely. 

“ That is the talk of a foolish boy, not of a 
man,” he cried wrathfully. “ Am I not fitted, 

then, to take mademoiselle home after bringing her 
here.J^ ” 


181 


THE SILENT BARRIER 


“ Truly, on a fine day, Josef,” was the smiling 
answer. 

“ I told monsieur that a guxe was blowing up 
from the south; so did Karl; but he would not 
hearken. Ma foil I am not to blame.” Barth, on 
his dignity, introduced a few words of French picked 
up from the Chamounix men. He fancied they 
would awe Stampa, and prove incidentally how wide 
was his own experience. 

The old guide only laughed. ‘‘ A nice pair, you 
and Karl,” he shouted. “ Are the voyageurs in your 
care or not.? You told monsieur, indeed! You 
ought to have refused to take mademoiselle. That 
would have settled the affair, I fancy.” 

“But this monsieur knows as much* about the 
mountains as any of us. He might surprise even 
you, Stampa. He has climbed the Matterhorn 
from Zermatt and Breuil. He has come down 
the rock wall on the Col des Nantillons. How is 
one to argue with such a voyageur on this child’9 
glacier? ” 

Stampa whistled. “ Oh — knows the Matterhorn, 
does he? What is his name? ” 

“ Bower,” said Helen, — “ Mr. Mark Bower.” 

“ What I Say that again, frdulein! Mark Bower? 
Is that your English way of putting it?” 

Helen attributed Stampa’s low hiss to a tardy 
recognition of Bower’s fame as a mountaineer. 
Though the hour was noon, the light was feeble. 
Veritable thunder clouds had gathered above the 
182 


« ETTA’S FATHER ” 


mist, and the expression of Stampa’s face was al- 
most hidden in the obscurity of the hut. 

“ That is his name,” she repeated. ‘‘ You must 
have heard of him. He was well known on the high 
Alps — years ago.” She paused before she added 
those concluding words. She was about to say “ in 
your time,” but the substituted phrase was less per- 
sonal, since the circumstances under which Stampa 
ceased to be a notability in “ the street ” at Zermatt 
were in her mind. 

“ God in heaven ! ” muttered the old man, passing 
a hand over his face as though waking from a 
dream, — “ God in heaven ! can it be that my prayer 
is answered at last? ” He shambled out. 

Spencer had waited to watch the almost continu- 
ous blaze of lightning playing on the glacier. Dis- 
tant summits were now looming through the dimin- 
ishing downpour of sleet. He was wondering if by 
any chance Stampa might be mistaken. Bower stood 
somewhat apart, seemingly engaged in the same en- 
grossing task. The wind was not quite so fierce 
as during its first onset. It blew m gusts. No 
longer screaming in a shrill and sustained note, it 
wailed fitfully. 

Stampa lurched unevenly close to Bower. He was 
about to touch him on the shoulder ; but he appeared 
to recollect himself in time. 

“ Marcus Bauer,” he said in a voice that was ter- 
rible by reason of its restraint. 

Bower wheeled suddenly. He did not flinch. His 

183 


THE SILENT BARRIER 


manner suggested a certain preparedness. Thus 
might a strong man face a wild beast when hope 
lay only in the matching of sinew against sinew. 

That is not my name,” he snarled viciously. 

“ Marcus Bauer,” repeated Stampa in the same 
repressed monotone, “ I am Etta’s father.” 

“ Why do you address me in that fashion I have 
never before seen you.” 

“ No. You took care of that. You feared Etta’s 
father, though you cared little for Christian Stampa, 
the guide. But I have seen you, Marcus Bauer. 
You were slim then — an elegant, is it not.?^ — and 
many a time have I hobbled into the Hotel Mont 
Cervin to look at your portrait in a group lest I 
should forget your face. Yet I passed you just 
now ! Great God ! I passed you.” 

A ferocity glared from Bower’s eyes that might 
well have daunted Stampa. For an instant he 
glanced toward Spencer, whose clear cut profile was 
silhouetted against a background of white-blue ice 
now gleaming in a constant flutter of lightning. 
Stampa was not yet aware of the true cause of 
Bower’s frenzy. He thought that terror was spur- 
ring him to self defense. An insane impulse to kill, 
to fight with the nails and teeth, almost mastered 
him ; but that must not be yet. 

“ It is useless, Marcus Bauer,” he said, with a 
calmness so horribly unreal that its deadly intent 
was all the more manifest. “ I am the avenger, not 
you. I can tear you to pieces with my hands when 
184j 


“ ETTA’S FATHER ” 


I will. It would be here and now, were it not for 
the presence of the English signorina who saved me 
from death. It is not meet that she should witness 
your expiation. That is to be settled between you 
and me alone.” 

Bower made one last effort to assert himself. 
“ You are talking in riddles, man,” he said. “ If 
you believe you have some long forgotten grievance 
against one of my name, come and see me to-morrow 
at the hotel. Perhaps ” 

“ Yes, I shall see you to-morrow. Do not dream 
that you can escape me. Now that I know you live, 
I would search the wide world for you. Blessed 
Mother! How you must have feared me all these 
years ! ” 

Stampa was using the Romansch dialect of the 
Italian Alps. Bower spoke in German. Spencer 
heard them indistinctly. He marveled that they 
should discuss, as he imagined, the state of the 
weather with such subdued passion. 

“ Hello, Christian,” he cried, “ the clouds are lift- 
ing somewhat. Where is your promised snow.^^ ” 

Stampa peered up into Bower’s face; for his 
twisted leg had reduced his own unusual height by 
many inches. “ To-morrow ! ” he whispered. “ At 
ten o’clock — outside the hotel. Then we have a set- 
tlement. Is it so ? ” 

There was no answer. Bower was wrestling with 
a mad desire to grapple with him and fling him down 
among the black rocks. Stampa crept nearer. A 
185 


THE SILENT BARRIER 


ghastly smile lit his rugged features, and his picket 
clattered to the broken shingle at his feet. 

“ I offer you to-morrow,” h^ said. ‘‘ I am in no 
hurry. Have I not waited sixteen years But it 
may be that you are tortured by a devil, Marcus 
Bauer. Shall it be now.^^ ” 

The clean-souled peasant believed that the million- 
aire had a conscience. Not yet did he understand 
that balked desire is stronger than any conscience. 
It really seemed that nothing could withhold these 
two from mortal struggle then and there. Spencer 
was regarding them curiously; but they paid no 
heed to him. Bower’s tongue was darting in and 
out between his teeth. The red blood surged to his 
temples. Stampa was still smiling. His lips moved 
in the strangest prayer that ever came from a man’s 
heart. He was actually thanking the Madonna — 
mother of the great peacemaker — for having brought 
his enemy within reach ! 

‘‘ Mr. Bower ! ” came Helen’s voice from the door 
of the cahane. “Why don’t you join us.? And 
you, Mr. Spencer.? Stampa, come here and eat at 
once.” 

“To-morrow, at ten.? Or now.?” the old man 
whispered again. 

“ To-morrow — curse you ! ” 

Stampa twisted himself round. “ I am not hun- 
gry, frdulein” he cried. “ I ate chocolate all the 
way up the glacier. But do you be speedy. We 
have lost too much time already.” 

186 


“ ETTA’S FATHER ” 


Bower brushed past, and the guide stooped to 
recover his ice ax. Spencer, though troubled suffi- 
ciently by his own disturbing fantasies, did not fail 
to notice their peculiar behavior. But he answered 
Helen with a pleasant disclaimer. 

“ Christian kept his hoard a secret. Miss Wyn- 
ton. I too have lost my appetite,” said he. 

“ Once we start we shall hardly be able to unpack 
the hamper again,” said Helen. 

The American was trying her temper. She sus- 
pected that he carried his hostility to the absurd 
pitch of refusing to partake of any food provided 
by Bower. It was a queer coincidence that Spencer 
harbored the same notion with regard to Stampa, 
and wondered at it. 

“ I shall starve willingly,” he said. “ It will be 
a just punishment for declining the good things 
that did not tempt me when they were available.” 

Bower poured out a quantity of wine and drank 
it at a gulp. He refilled the glass and nearly emp- 
tied it a second time. But he touched not a morsel 
of meat or bread. Helen, fortunately, attributed 
the conduct of the men to spleen. She ate a sand- 
wich, and found that she was far more ready for 
a meal than she had imagined. 

Stampa’s broad frame darkened the doorway. He 
told Karl not to burden himself with anything save 
the cutlery. Now that he was the skilled guide 
again, the leader in whom they trusted, his wora 
face was animated and his voice eager. 

IS7 


THE SILENT BARRIER 


Helen heard Spencer’s exclamation without. 

“ By Jove, Stampa ! you are right ! Here comes 
the snow.” 

“Quick, quick!” cried Stampa. '^Vorwdrtz, 
Barth. You lead. Stop at my call. Karl next — 
then the frdtdem and my monsieur. Yours follows, 
and I come last.” 

“No, no!” burst out Bower, lowering a third 
glass of wine from his lips. 

Che diavolo! It shall be as I have said!” 
shouted Stampa, with an imperious gesture. Helen 
remarked it; but things were being done and said 
that were inexplicable. Even Bower was silenced. 

“ Are we to be roped, then ? ” growled Barth. 

“ Have you never crossed ice during a snow 
storm ” asked Stampa. 

In a few minutes they were ready. The lightning 
flashes were less frequent, and the thunder was mut- 
tering far away amid the secret places of the 
Bernina. The wind was rising again. Instead of 
sleet it carried snowflakes, and these did not sting 
the face nor patter on the ice. But they clung 
everywhere, and the sable rocks were taking unto 
themselves a new garment. 

“ Vorwdrtz! ” rang out Stampa’s trumpet like 
call, and Barth leaped down into the moraine. 


188 



CHAPTER X 

ON THE GLACIER 

Barth, a good man on ice and rock, was not a 
genius among guides. Faced by an apparently un- 
scalable rock wall, or lost in a wilderness of seracs, 
he would never guess the one way that led to suc- 
cess. But he was skilled in the technic of his pro- 
fession, and did not make the mistake now of sub- 
jecting Helen or Spencer to the risk of an ugly 
fall. The air temperature had dropped from eighty 
degrees Fahrenheit to below freezing point. Rocks 
that gave safe foothold an hour earlier were now 
glazed with an amalgam of sleet and snow. If, in his 
dull mind, he wondered why Spencer came next to 
Helen, rather than Bower or Stampa, — either of 
whom would know exactly when to give that timely 
aid with the rope that imparts such confidence to 
the novice, — he said nothing. Stampa’s eye was on 
him. His pride was up in arms. It behoved him to 
189 


THE SILENT BARRIER 


press on at just the right pace, and commit no 
blunder. 

Helen, who had been glad to get back to the 
moraine during the ascent, was ready to breathe a 
sigh of relief when she felt her feet on the ic^ again. 
Those treacherous rocks were affrighting. They 
bereft her of trust in her own limbs. She seemed 
to slip here and there without power to check her- 
self. She expected at any moment to stumble help- 
lessly on some cruelly sharp angle of a granite 
boulder, and find that she was maimed so badly as 
to render another step impossible. More than once 
she was sensible that the restraining pull on the rope 
alone held her from disaster. Her distress did not 
hinder the growth of a certain surprise that the 
American should be so sure footed, so quick to judge 
her needs. When by his help a headlong downward 
plunge was converted into a harmless slide over the 
sloping face of a rock, she half turned. 

“ I must thank you for that afterward,” she said, 
with a fine effort at a smile. 

“ Eyes front, please,” was the quiet answer. 

Under less strenuous conditions it might have 
sounded curt; but the look that met hers robbed 
the words of their tenseness, and sent the hot blood 
tingling in her veins. Bower had never looked at 
her like that. Just as some unusually vivid flash of 
lightning revealed the hidden depths of a crevasse, 
bringing plainly before the eye chinks and crannies 
not discernible in the strongest sunlight, so did the 
190 


ON THE GLACIER 


glimpse of Spencer’s soul illumine her understanding. 
He was not only safeguarding her, but thinking of 
her, and the stolen knowledge set up a bewildering 
tumult in her heart. 

“ Attention ! ” shouted Barth, halting and making 
a drive at something with his ax. 

The line stopped. Stampa’s ringing voice came 
over Helen’s head: 

“ What is that ahead there ? ” 

“ A new fall, I think. We ought to leave the 
moraine a little lower down; but this was not here 
when we ascended.” 

How either man, Stampa especially, could see any- 
thing at all, was beyond the girl’s comprehension. 
The snow was absolutely blinding. The wind was 
full in their faces, and it carried the huge flakes up- 
ward. They seemed to spring from beneath rather 
than drop from the clouds. Ever and anon a weirdly 
blue gleam of lightning would give a demoniac touch 
to a scene worthy of the Inferno. 

“Make for the ice — quick!” cried Stampa, and 
Barth turned sharply to the left. Falling stones 
were now their chief danger, and both men were 
anxious to avoid it. 

After a brief scramble they mounted the curving 
glacier. A fiercer gust shrieked at them and swept 
some small space clear of snow. Helen had a dim 
vision of lightning playing above the crest of a 
great mound on the edge of the ice field, — a mound 
that she did not remember seeing before. Then the 
191 


THE SILENT BARRIER 


gale sank back to its sustained howling, the snow 
swirled in denser volume, and the specter vanished. 

Ere they had gone another hundred yards, Barth’s 
hoarse warning checked them again. “ The bridge 
has fallen ! ” was his cry. “ There has been an ice 
anovement.” 

There was a question in the man’s words. Here 
was a nice point submitted to his judgment, — 
whether to follow the line of the recently formed 
schrund yawning at his feet, or endeavor to cross 
it, or go back to the scene of the landslip? That 
was where Barth was lacking. In that instant he 
resigned his pride of place without further effort 
to retain it. He was in the van, but did not lead. 
Thenceforth Stampa was master. 

“ What is the width — ten meters ? ” demanded the 
old guide cheerfully. 

“ About that.” 

“ All the better. It is not deep here. The shock 
of that avalanche opened it up. You will find a way 
down. Cut the steps close together. You know how 
to polish them, Karl?” 

“ Yes, I can do that,” said the porter. 

“ And watch the signorina’s feet.” 

Yes, I’ll take care.” 

Barth was peering fixedly into the chasm. To 
Helen’s fancy it was bottomless, though in reality 
it was not more than forty feet deep, and the two 
walls fell away from each other at a practicable 
angle. In normal summer weather, a small crevasse 
192 


ON THE GLACIER 


always formed there owing to the glacier flo 
over a transverse ridge of rock beneath. To-da^ 
the impact of many thousands of tons of debris had 
disrupted the ice to an unusual extent. Having de- 
cided on the best line, the leading guide stepped 
over into space. Helen heard his ax ringing as he 
fashioned secure foothold down the steep ledge he 
had selected. He was quite trustworthy in such work. 

Stampa, who had a thought for none save Helen, 
gave her a reassuring word. ‘‘ Barth will find a way, 
frdulein,^^ he said. “ And Herr Spencer knows how 
you should cross your feet and carry your ax, while 
Karl will see to your foothold. Remember too that 
you will be at the bottom before I begin the descent, 
so no harm can come to you. Try and stand 
straight. Don’t lean against the slope. Lean away 
from it. Don’t be afraid. Don’t trust to the rope 
or the grip of the ax. Rely on your own stand.” 

It was no time to pick and choose phrases, yet 
Helen realized the oddity of the absence of any ref- 
erence to Bower. One other in the party had a 
thought somewhat akin to hers ; but he slurred it 
over in his mind, and seized the opportunity to help 
her by a casual remark. 

‘‘ Guess you hardly expected genuine ice work in 
to-day’s trip ? ” he said. “ Stampa and I had a lot 
of it last week. It’s as easy as walking down stairs 
when you know how.” 

“I don’t think I am afraid,” she answered; “but 
1 should have preferred to walk up stairs first. This 
193 


THE SELENT BARRIER 


P’f’i’ather reversing the natural order of things, 
isn’t it? ” 

“ Nature loves irregularities. That is why the 
prize girl in every novel has irregular features. A 
heroine with a Greek face would kill a whole library.” 

“ Vorwdrtz — es geht! ” 

Barth’s gruff voice sounded hollow frdm the 
depths. Karl, in his turn, went over the lip of the 
crevasse. Helen, conscious of an exaltation that 
lifted her out of the region of ignoble fear, looked 
down. She could see now what was being done. 
Barth was swinging his ax and smiting the ice with 
the adz. His head was just below the level of her 
feet, though he was distant the full length of two 
sections of the rope. He had cut broad black steps. 
They did not seem to present any great difficulty. 
Helen found herself speculating on the remarkable 
light effects that made these notches black in a gray- 
green wall. 

“ Right foot first,” said Spencer quietly. “ When 
that is firmly fixed, throw all your weight on it, and 
bring the left down. Then the right again. Hold 
the pick breast high.” 

“ So ! ” cried Karl appreciatively, watching her 
first successful effort. 

As Spencer was lowering himself into the crevasse, 
he heard something that set his nimble wits agog. 
Stampa, the valiant and light hearted Stampa, the 
genial companion who had laughed and jested even 
when they were crossing an ice slope on the giant 
194 


ON THE GLACIER 


Monte della Disgrazia, — a traverse of precarious 
clinging, where a slip meant death a thousand feet 
below, — was muttering strangely at Bower. 

“ Schwein-hund! ” he was saying, “ if any evil 
befalls the frdulein, I shall drive my ax between your 
shoulder blades.” 

There was no reply. Spencer was sure he was not 
mistaken. Though the guide spoke German, he 
knew enough of that language to understand this 
comparatively simple sentence. Quite as amazing as 
Stampa’s threat was Bower’s silent acceptance of it. 
He began to piece together some fleeting impressions 
of the curious wrangle between the two outside the 
hut. He recalled Bower’s extraordinary change of 
tone when told that a man named Christian Stampa 
had followed him from Maloja. 

Helen was just taking another confldent step for- 
ward and down, balancing herself with graceful as- 
surance. Spencer had a few seconds in which to 
steal a backward glance, and a flash of lightning 
happened to glimmer on Bower’s features. The 
American was not given to fanciful imaginings; but 
during many a wild hour in the Far West he had 
seen the baleful frown of murder on a man’s face 
too often not to recognize it now in this snow 
scourged cleft of a mighty Alpine glacier. Yet he 
was helpless. He could neither speak nor act on a 
mere opinion. He could only watch, and be on his 
guard. From that moment he tried to observe every 
movement not only of Helen but of Bower. 

195 


THE SILENT BARRIER 


The members of the party were roped at intervals 
of twenty feet. Allowing for the depth of the 
crevasse, the amount of rope taken up in their hands 
ready to be served out as occasion required, and the 
inclination of Barth’s line of descent, the latter ought 
to be notching the opposing wall before Stampa 
quitted the surface of the glacier. Though Spencer 
could not see Stampa now, he knew that the rear 
guide was bracing himself strongly against any tell- 
tale jerk, with the aditional security of an anchor 
obtained by driving the pick of his ax deeply into 
the surface ice. It was Bower’s business to keep 
the rope quite taut both above and below; but the 
American was sure that he was gathering the slack 
behind him with his right hand while he carried the 
ax in his left, and did not use it to steady himself. 

Spencer assumed, from various comments by 
Helen and others, that Bower was an adept climber. 
Therefore, the passage of a schrund, or large, shallow 
crevasse was child’s play to him. This departure from 
all the canons of the craft as imparted by Stampa 
during their first week on the hills together, struck 
Spencer as exceedingly dangerous. He reflected 
that were it not for the words he had overheard, 
he would never have known of this curious proceed- 
ing. Indeed, but for those words, with their sinister 
significance augmented by Bower’s devilish expres- 
sion, had he even looked back by chance, the 
maneuver might not have attracted his attention. 
What, then, did it imply? Why should a skilled 
196 


ON THE GLACIER 


mountaineer break an imperative rule that permits 
of no exceptions? He continued to watch Bower 
even more closely. He devoted to the task every in- 
stant that consideration for Helen’s safety and his 
own would allow. 

There was not much light in the crevasse. Heavy 
clouds and the smothering snow wraiths hid the trav- 
elers under a dense pall that suggested the approach 
of night, although the actual time was about half 
past one o’clock in the afternoon. The wind seemed 
to delight in torturing them with minute particles 
of ice that stung with a peculiar sensation of burn- 
ing. These were bad enough. To add to their 
miseries, fine, powdery snowflakes settled on eyes 
and eyelids with blinding effect. 

During a particularly baffling gust Helen ut- 
tered a slight exclamation. Instantly Spencer stiff- 
ened himself, and Barth and Karl halted. 

“ It is nothing,” she cried. “ For a second I 
could not see.” 

Barth’s ax rang out again. The vibrations of 
each lusty blow could be felt distinctly along the 
solid ice wall. After a last downward step he would 
begin to notch his way up the other side, where the 
angle was much more favorable to rapid progress. 
Spencer stole another glance over his shoulder. 
Bower had fully ten feet of the rearmost section of 
rope in hand. His head was thrown well back. 
Standing with his face to the ice, he was striving 
to look over the lip of the schrund. Stampa, feel- 
197 


THE SILENT BARRIER 


ing a steady tension, must be expecting the announce- 
ment momentarily that Barth was crossing the nar- 
row crevice at the bottom. Helen and Karl, intent 
on the operations of the leader, paid heed to noth- 
ing else; but Spencer was fascinated by Bower’s 
peculiar actions. 

At last, Barth’s deep bass reverberated trium- 
phantly upward. “ Vorwdrtz! ” 

^^Vorwartz, Stampa!” repeated Bower, suddenly | 
changing the ice ax to his right hand and stretching < 
the left as far along the rope and as high up as 
possible. Simultaneously he raised the ax. Then, 
and not till then, did Spencer understand. Stampa j 

must be on the point of relaxing his grip and pre- j 

paring to descend. If Bower cut the rope with a | 

single stroke of the adz, a violent tug at the sun- ] 

dered end would precipitate Stampa headlong into I 
the crevasse, while there would be ample evidence to ^ 
show that he had himself severed the rope by a mis- j 
calculated blow. The fall would surely kill him. j 

When his corpse was recovered, it would be found J 

that the cut had been made much closer to his own j 
body than to that of his nearest neighbor. 

“ Stop ! ” roared Spencer, all aquiver with wrath ! 
at his discovery. ^ j 

Obedience to the climbers’ law held the others j 

rigid. That command implied danger. It called i 

for an instant tightening of every muscle to withstand j 

the strain of a slip. Even Bower, a man on the 
very brink of committing a fiendish crime, yielded 
198 


ON THE GLACIER 


to a subconscious acceptance of the law, and kept 
himself braced in his steps. 

The American was well fitted to handle a crisis 
of that nature. “ Hold fast, Stampa ! ” he shouted. 

‘‘What is wrong ” came the ready cry, for the 
rear guide had already driven the pick of his ax 
into the ice again after having withdrawn it. 

Then Spencer spoke English. “ I happen to be 
watching you,” he said slowly, never relaxing a 
steel-cold scrutiny of Bower’s livid face. “ You 
seem to forget what you are doing. Follow me until 
you have taken up the slack of the rope. Do you 
understand ? ” 

Bower continued to gaze at him with lack-luster 
eyes. All he realized was that his murderous design 
was frustrated; but how or why he neither knew 
nor cared. 

“ Do you hear me ? ” demanded Spencer even more 
sternly. “ Come along, or I shall explain myself 
more fully ! ” 

Without answering, the other made shift to move. 
Spencer, however, meant to save the unwitting guide 
from further hazard. 

“ Don’t stir, Stampa, till I give the order ! ” he 
sang out. 

“ All right, monsieur, but we are losing time. 
What is Barth doing there.? Saperlotte! If I were 
in front ” 

Bower, who owned certain strong qualities, swal- 
lowed something, took three strides downward, and 

199 


THE SILENT BARRIER 


said calmly : “ I was waiting to give Stampa a hand. 
He is lame, you know.” 

Helen, of course, heard all that passed. She had 
long since abandoned the effort to disentangle the 
skein of that day’s events. Everybody was talking 
and acting unnaturally. Perhaps the ravel of things 
would clear itself when they regained the common- 
place world of the hotel. In any case, she wished 
the men would hurry, for it was unutterably cold 
in the crevasse. 

At last, then, there w’as a movement ahead. 

Barth began to mount. Muttering an instruction 
to Karl that he was to give the girl a friendly pull, 
he cut smaller steps more widely apart and at a 
steeper gradient. Soon they were on the floor of 
the ice and hurrying to the next bridge. Not a word 
was spoken by anyone. The fury of the gale and 
the ever gathering snow made it imperative that not 
a moment should be wasted. The lightning was de- 
creasing perceptibly, while the occasional peals of 
thunder were scarcely audible above the soughing of 
the wind. A tremendous crash on the right an- 
nounced the fall of another avalanche; but it did 
not affect the next broad crevasse. The bridge they 
had used a few hours earlier stood firm. Indeed, it 
was new welded by regelation since the sun’s rays 
had disappeared. 

The leader kept a perfect line, never deviating 
from the right track. Helen, who had completely 
lost her bearings, thought they had a long way 
200 


ON THE GLACIER 


farther to go, when she saw Barth stop and begin 
to unfasten the rope. Then a thrust with the butt 
of her pickel told her that she was standing on rock. 
When she cleared her eyes of the flying snow, she 
saw a well defined curving ribbon amid the white 
chaos. It was the path, covered six inches deep. 
The violent exertions of nearly three hours since 
she left the hut had induced a pleasant sense of lan- 
guor. Did she dare to suggest it, she would have 
liked to sit down and rest for awhile. 

Bower, who had substituted reasoned thought for 
his madness, addressed Spencer with easy compla- 
cence while Barth was unroping them. “ Why did 
you believe that I was doing a risky thing in stop- 
ping to assist Stampa.?” he asked. 

“ I guess you know best,” was the uncompro- 
mising answer. 

Yes, I think I do. Of course, I could not argue 
the matter then, but I fancy my climbing experience 
is far greater than yours, Mr. Spencer.” 

His sheer impudence was admirable. He even 
smiled in the superior way of an expert lecturing 
a novice. But Spencer did not smile. 

“ Do you really want to hear my views on your 
conduct.?” he said. 

“ No, thanks. The discussion might prove inter- 
esting, but we can adjourn it to the coffee and 
cigar period after dinner.” 

His eyes fell under Spencer’s contemptuous 
glance. Yet he carried himself bravely. Though 
201 


THE SILENT BARRIER 


the man he meant to kill, and another man who had 
read his inmost thought in time to prevent a tragedy, 
were looking at him fixedly, he turned away with 
a laugh on his lips. 

“ I am afraid, Miss Wynton, you will regard me 
in future as a broken reed where Alpine excursions 
are concerned,” he said. 

“ You were mistaken — that is obvious,” said Helen 
frankly. “ But so was Barth. He agreed that the 
storm would be only a passing affair. Don’t you 
think we are very deeply indebted to Mr. Spencer 
and Stampa for coming to our assistance ” 

“ I do, indeed. Stampa, one can reward in kind. 
This sort of thing used to be his business, I hear. 
As for Mr. Spencer, a smile from you will repay 
him tenfold.” 

Herr Spencer,” broke in Stampa, ‘‘ you go on 
with the signorina and see that she does not slip. 
She is tired. Marcus Bauer and I have matters to 
discuss.” 

The old man’s unwonted harshness appealed to the 
girl as did the host of other queer happenings on 
that memorable day. Bower moved uneasily. A 
vindictive gleam shot from his eyes. Helen missed 
none of this. But she was fatigued, and her feet 
were cold and wet, while the sleet encountered on the 
upper glacier had almost soaked her to the skin. 
Nevertheless, she strove bravely to lighten the cloud 
that seemed to have settled on the men. 

“ That means a wordy warfare,” she said gayly. 

202 


ON THE GLACIEJa 


“ I pity you, Mr. Bower. You cannot wriggle out 
of your difficulty. The snow will soon be a foot 
deep in the valley. Goodness only knows what 
would have become of us up there in the hut ! ” 

He bowed gracefully, with a hint of the foreign 
air she had noted once before. ‘‘ I would have 
brought you safely out of greater perils,” he said; 
“ but every dog has his day, and this is Stampa’s.” 

“ En route ! ” cried the guide impatiently. He 
loathed the sight of Bower standing there, smiling 
and courteous, in the presence of one whom he re- 
garded as a Heaven-sent friend and protectress. 
Spencer attributed his surliness to its true cause. 
It supplied another bit of the mosaic he was slowly 
piecing together. Greatly as he preferred Helen’s 
company, he was willing to sacrifice at least ten 
minutes of it, could he but listen to the ‘‘ discus- 
sion ” between Stampa and Bower. 

Therein he would have erred greatly. Helen was 
tired, and she admitted it. She did not decline his 
aid when the path was steep and slippery. In de- 
lightful snatches of talk they managed to say a 
good deal to each other, and Helen did not fail to 
make plain the exact circumstances under which she 
first caught sight of Spencer outside the hut. When 
they arrived at the carriage road, which begins at 
Lake Cavloccio, they could walk side by side and 
chat freely. Here, in the valley, matters were nor- 
mal. The snow did not place such a veil on all 
things. The windings of the road often brought 
^03 


THE SILENT BARRIER 


them abreast of the four men in the rear. Bower 
was trudging along alone, holding his head down, 
and seemingly lost in thought. 

Close behind him came Stampa and the En- 
gadiners. Karl, of course, was talking — the others 
might or might not be lending their ears to his in- 
terminable gossip. 

“ We are outstripping our companions. Don’t 
you think we ought to wait for them.^ ” said Helen 
once, when Bower chanced to look her way. 

“ No,” said Spencer. 

“ You are exceedingly positive.” 

“ I tried to be exceedingly negative.” 

“ But why.? ” 

“ I rather fancy that they would jar on us.” 

‘‘ But Stampa’s promised lecture appears to have 
ende’d.? ” 

“ I think it never began. It is a safe bet that Mr. 
Bower and he have not exchanged a word since our 
last halt.” 

Helen laughed. “ A genuine case of Greek meet- 
ing Greek,” she said. “ Stampa is an excellent 
guide, I am sure; but Mr. Bower does really know 
these mountains. I suppose anyone is liable to err 
in forecasting Alpine weather.” 

“ That is nothing. If it were you or I, Stampa 
would dismiss the point with a grin. You heard 
how he chaffed Barth, yet trusted him with the 
lead.? No. These two have an old feud to settle. 
You wiU hear more of it.” 


ON THE GLACIER 


A feud ! Mr. Bower declared to me that Stampa 
was absolutely unknown to him.” 

“ It isn’t necessary to know a man before you 
hate him. I can give you a heap of historic ex- 
amples. For instance, who has a good word to say 
for Ananias.? ” 

The girl understood that he meant to parry her 
question with a quip. The cross purposes so much 
in evidence all day were baffling and mysterious to 
its close. 

“ My own opinion is that both you and Stampa 
have taken an unreasonable dislike to Mr. Bower,” 
she said determinedly. The words were out before 
she quite realized their import. She flushed a little. 

Spencer was gazing down into the gorge of the 
Orlegna. The brawling torrent chimed with his own 
mood; but his set face gave no token of the storm 
within. He only said quietly, “ How good it must 
be to have you as a friend ! ” 

“ I have no reason to feel other than friendly 
to Mr. Bower,” she protested hotly. “ It was the 
rarest good fortune for me that he came to Maloja. 
I met him once in London, and a second time, by 
accident, during my journey to Switzerland. Yet, 
widely known as he is in society, he was sufficiently 
large minded to disregard the sneers and innuendoes 
of some of those horrid women in the hotel. He 
has gone out of his way to show me every kindness. 
Why should I not repay it by speaking well of 
him.? ” 


W5 


THE SILENT BARRIER 


‘‘ I shall lay my head on the nearest tre^ stump, 
and you can smite me with your ax, good and hard,” 
said Spencer. 

She laughed angrily. “ I don’t know what evil 
influence is possessing us,” she cried. “ Everything 
is awry. Even the sun refuses to shine. Here am 
I storming at one to whom I owe my Hfe ” 

“ No,” he broke in decisively. “ Don’t put it that 
way, because the whole credit of the relief expedi- 
tion is due to Stampa. Say, Miss Wynton, may I 
square my small services by asking a favor.? ” 

“ Oh, yes, indeed.” 

“ Well, then, if it lies in your power, keep Stampa 
and Bower apart. In any event, don’t intervene in 
their quarrel.” 

“ So you are quite serious in your belief that 
there is a quarrel .? ” 

The American saw again in his mind’s eye the 
scene in the crevasse when Bower had raised his ax 
to strike. “ Quite serious,” he replied, and the 
gravity in his voice was so marked that Helen placed 
a contrite hand on his arm for an instant. 

“ Please, I am sorry if I was rude to you just 
now,” she said. “ I have had a long day, and my 
nerves are worn to a fine edge. I used to flatter my- 
self that I hadn’t any nerves; but they have come 
to the surface here. It must be the thin air.” 

“ Then it is a bad place for an American.” 

“ Ah, that reminds me of something I had for- 
gotten. I meant to ask you how you came to re- 
206 


ON THE GLACIER 


main in the Maloja. Is that too inquisitive on my 
part? I can account for the presence of the other 
Americans in the hotel. They belong to the Paris 
colony, and are interested in tennis and golf. I 
have not seen you playing either game. In fact, / 
you moon about in solitary grandeur, like myself. 
And — oh, dear ! what a string of questions ! — is it 
true that you wanted to play baccarat with Mr. 
Bower for a thousand pounds?” 

“ It is true that I agreed to share a bank with 
Mr. Dunston, and the figure you mention was sug- 
gested ; but I backed out of the proposition.” 

« Why? ” 

“ Because your friend, Mr. Hare, thought he was 
responsible, in a sense, having introduced me to 
Dunston; so I let up on the idea, — just to stop him 
from feeling bad about it.” 

“ You really meant to play in the first instance? ” 

« Yes.” 

“ Well, it was very wicked of you. Only the 
other day you were telling me how hard you had 
to work before you saved your first thousand 
pounds.” 

“ From that point of view my conduct was idiotic. 
But I would like to carry the story a little further. 
Miss Wynton. I was in a mood that night to op- 
pose Mr. Bower for a much more valuable stake 
if the chance offered.” 

“ It is rather shocking,” said Helen. 

“ I suppose so. Of course, there are prizes in 

207 


THE SILENT BARRIER 


life that cannot be measured by monetary stand- 
ards.” 

He was not looking at the Orlegna now, and the 
girl by his side well knew it. The great revelation 
that flooded her soul with light while crossing the 
Forno came back with renewed power. She did not 
pretend to herself that the words were devoid of a 
hidden meaning, and her heart fluttered with subtle 
ecstasy. But she was proud and self reliant, so 
proud that she crushed the tumult in her breast, so 
celf reliant that she was able to give him a timid smile^ 

“ That deals with the second head of the indict' 
ment, then,” she said lightl}^ “ Now for the firsts 
Why did you select the Engadine for your holh 
day.? ” 

“ If I could tell you that, I should know some" 
thing of the occult impulses that govern men’s lives, 
One minute I was in London, meaning to go north, 
The next I was hurrying to buy a ticket for St. 
Moritz.” 

‘‘ But ” She meant to continue, “ you arrived 

here the same day as I did.” Somehow that did not 
sound quite the right thing to say. Her tongue 
tripped; but she forced herself to frame a sentence. 

‘‘ It is odd that you, like myself, should have hit upon 
an out of the way place like Maloja. The differ- ^ 
ence is that I was sent here, whereas you came of 
your own free will.” 

“ I guess you are right,” said he, laughing as 
though she had uttered an exquisite joke. “ Yes, 
208 


ON THE GLACIER 


that is just it. I can imagine two young English 
swallows, meeting in Algeria in the winter, twit- 
tering explanations of the same sort.” 

“ I don’t feel a bit like a swallow, and I am sure 
I can’t twitter, and as for Algeria, a home of sun- 
shine — well, j ust look at it ! ” She waved a hand 
at the darkening panorama of hills and pine woods, 
all etched in black lines and masses, where rocks 
and trees and houses broke the dead white of the 
^ow mantle. 

They happened to be crossing a bridge that spans 
the Orlegna before it takes its first frantic plunge 
towards Italy. Bower, who had quickened his pace, 
took the gesture as a signal, and sent an answering 
flourish. Helen stopped. He evidently wished to 
overtake them. 

“ More explanations,” murmured Spencer. 

“ But he was mistaken. I was calling Nature to 
witness that your simile was not justified.” 

‘‘ Tell you what,” he said in a low voice, “ if this 
storm has blown over by the morning, meet me after 
breakfast, and we will walk down the valley to 
Vicosoprano for luncheon. There is a diligence back 
in the afternoon. We can stroll there in three hours, 
and I shall have time to clear up this swallow 
proposition.” 

“ That will be delightful, if the weather improves.” 

It will. I will compel it.” 

Bower was nearing them rapidly. A constrained 
silence fell between them. To end it, Helen cried: 
209 


THE SILENT BARRIER 


\ 


“ Well, are you feeling duly humbled, Mr. 
Bower.? ” 

He did not seem to understand her meaning. Ap- 
parently, he might have forgotten that Stampa still 
lived. Then he roused his wits with an effort. “ Not 
humbled, but elated,” he said. “ Have I not led 
you to feats of derring-do? Why, the Wragg 
girls will be green with envy when they hear of your 
exploits.” 

He swung round the comer to the bridge. After 
a smiling glance at Spencer’s impassive face, he 
turned to Helen. “ You have come out of the or- 
deal with flying colors,” he said. “ That flower you 
picked on the way up has not withered. Give it to 
me as a memento.” 

The words were almost a challenge. The girl 
hesitated. 

“ No,” she said. “ I must And you some other 
souvenir.” 

“ But I want that — if ” 

“ There is no ‘ if.’ You forget that I took it 
from — from the boulder marked by a cross.” 

“ I am not superstitious.” 

‘‘ Nor am I. Nevertheless, I should not care to 
give you such a symbol.” 

She caught Bower and Spencer exchanging a 
strange look. These men shared some secret that 
they sedulously kept from her. Perhaps the Ameri- 
can meant to enlighten her during their projected 
walk to Vicosoprano. 


210 


ON THE GLACIER 


Stampa and the others approached. Together 
they climbed the little hill leading to the summit of 
the pass. In the village they said “ Good night ” to 
the two guides and Karl. 

Helen promised laughingly to make the acquaint- 
ance of Johann Klucker’s cat at the first oppor- 
tunity. She was passing through a wicket that 
protects the footpath across the golf links, when she 
heard Stampa growl: 

“ Morgen friih! ” 

snapped Bower. 

She smiled to herself at the thought that things 
were going to happen to-morrow. She was right. 
But she had not yet done with the present day. 
When she entered the cozy and brilliantly lighted 
veranda of the hotel, the first person her amazed 
eyes alighted upon was Millicent Jaques. 


211 



CHAPTER XI 


WHEREIN HELEN LIVES A CROWDED HOUR 

“ Millicent ! You here!” Helen breathed the 
words in an undertone that carried more than a hint 
of dismay. 

It was one of those rare crises in life when the 
brain receives a presage of evil without any prior 
foundation of fact. Helen had every reason to wel- 
come her friend, none to be chilled by her unex- 
pected presence. Among a small circle of intimate 
acquaintances she counted Millicent Jaques the best 
and truest. They had drifted apart; but that was 
owing to Helen’s lack of means. She was not able, 
nor did she aspire, to mix in the society that hailed 
the actress as a bright particular star. Yet it meant 
much to a girl earning her daily bread in a heedless 
city that she should possess one friend of her own 
age and sex who could speak of the golden years 
when they were children together, — the years when 
212 


HELEN LIVES A CROWDED HOUR 


Helen’s father was the prospective governor of an 
Indian province as large as France; when the tuft 
hunters now gathered in Maloja would have fawned 
on her mother in hope of subsequent recognition. 

Why, then, did Helen falter in her greeting.^ Who 
can tell.? She herself did not know, unless it was 
that Millicent rose so leisurely from the table at 
which she was drinking a belated cup of tea, and 
came toward her with a smile that had no warmth 
in it. 

“ So you have returned,” she said, “ and with both 
cavaliers.? ” 

Helen was conscious of a queer humming noise 
in her head. She was incapable of calm thought. 
She realized now that the friend she had left in Lon- 
don was here in the guise of a bitter enemy. The 
veranda was full of people waiting for the post. 
The snow had banished them from links and tennis 
court. This August afternoon was dark as mid- 
December at the same hour. But the rendezvous was 
brilliantly lighted, and the reappearance of the climb- 
ers, whose chances of safety had been eagerly de- 
bated since the snow storm began, drew all eyes. 
Someone had whispered too that the beautiful 
woman who arrived from St. Moritz half an hour 
earlier, who sat in her furs and sipped her tea after 
a long conversation with a clerk in the bureau, was 
none other than Millicent Jaques, the dancer, one 
of the leading lights of English musical comedy. 

The peepers and whisperers little dreamed that 

21S 


THE SILENT BARRIER 


she could be awaiting the party from the Fomo. 
Now that her vigil was explained, for Bower had 
advanced with ready smile and outstretched hand, 
the Wraggs and Vavasours and de la Veres — all the 
little coterie of gossips and scandalmongers — were 
drawn to the center of the hall like steel filings to 
a magnet. 

Millicent ignored Bower. She was young enough 
and pretty enough to feel sure of her ability to deal 
with him subsequently. Her cornflower blue eyes 
glittered. They held something of the quiet menace 
of a crevasse. She had traveled far for revenge, 
and she did not mean to forego it. Helen, whose sec- 
ond impulse was to kiss her affectionately, with ex- 
cited clamor of welcome and inquiry, stood rooted 
to the floor by her friend’s strange words. 

“ I — I am so surprised ” she half stammered 

in an agony of confused doubt; and that was the 
only lame phrase she could utter during a few trying 
seconds. 

Bower frowned. He hated scenes between women. 
With his first glimpse of Millicent he guessed her 
errand. For Helen’s sake, in the presence of that 
rabbit-eared crowd, he would not brook the un- 
merited flood of sarcastic indignation which he knew 
was trembling on her lips. 

“ Miss Wynton has had an exhausting day,” he 
said coolly. “ She must go straight to her room, 
and rest. You two can meet and talk after dinner.” 
Without further preamble, he took Helen’s arm. 
^ 14 . 


HELEN LIVES A CROWDED HOUR 


Millicent barred the way. She did not give place. 
Again she paid no heed to the man. ‘‘ I shall not 
detain you long,” she said, looking only at Helen, 
and speaking in a low clear voice that her stage 
training rendered audible throughout the large hall. 
“ I only wished to assure myself that what I was 
told was true. I found it hard to believe, even when 
I saw your name written up in the hotel. Before I 
go, let me congratulate you on your conquest — 
and Mr. Mark Bower on his,” she added, with clever 
pretense of afterthought. 

Helen continued to stare at her helplessly. Her 
lips quivered ; but they uttered no sound. It 
was impossible to misunderstand Millicent’s object. 
She meant to wound and insult in the grossest 
way. 

Bower dropped Helen’s arm, and strode close to 
the woman who had struck this shrewd blow at him. 
“ I give you this one chance ! ” he muttered, while his 
eyes blazed into hers. “ Go to your room, or sit 
down somewhere till I am free. I shall come to you, 
and put things straight that now seem crooked. You 
are wrong, horribly wrong, in your suspicions. Wait 
my explanation, or by all that I hold sacred, you 
will regret it to your dying hour ! ” 

Millicent drew back a little. She conveyed the 
suggestion that his nearness was offensive to her 
nostrils. And she laughed, with due semblance of 
real amusement. ‘‘ What ! Has she made a fool 
of you too ? ” she cried bitingly. 

215 


THE SILENT BARRIER 


Then Helen did exactly the thing she ought not to 
have done. She fainted. 

Spencer, in his own vivid phrase, was “ looking for 
trouble ” the instant he caught sight of the actress. 
Had some Mahatma-devised magic lantern focused 
on the screen of his inner consciousness a complete 
narrative of the circumstances which conspired to 
bring Millicent Jaques to the Upper Engadine, he 
could not have mastered cause and effect more fully. 
The unlucky letter he asked Mackenzie to send to 
the Wellington Theater — the letter devised as a 
probe into Bower’s motives, but which was now cru- 
elly searching its author’s heart — had undoubtedly 
supplied to a slighted woman the clew to her rival’s 
identity. Better posted than Bower in the true his- 
tory of Helen’s visit to Switzerland, he did not fail 
to catch the most significant word in Millicent’s 
scornful greeting. 

“ And with both cavaliers ! ” 

In all probability, she knew the whole ridiculous 
story, reading into it the meaning lent by jealous 
spleen, and no more to be convinced of error than 
the Forno glacier could be made to flow backward. 

But if his soul was vexed by a sense of bygone 
folly, his brain was cool and alert. He saw Helen 
sway slightly. He caught her before she collapsed 
where she stood. He gathered her tenderly in his 
arms. She might have been a tired child, fallen 
asleep too soon. Her limp head rested on his shoul- 
der. Through the meshes of her blue veil he could 
216 


HELEN LIVES A CROWDED HOUR 


see the sudden pallor of her cheeks. The tint of the 
silk added to the lifelessness of her aspect. Just 
then Spencer’s heart was sore within him, and he 
was an awkward man to oppose. 

George de Courcy Vavasour happened to crane 
his neck nearer at the wrong moment. The Ameri- 
can sent him flying with a vigorous elbow thrust. 
He shoved Bower aside with scant ceremony. Milli- 
cent Jaques met a steely glance that quelled the 
vengeful sparkle in her own eyes, and caused her 
to move quickly, lest, perchance, this pale-faced 
American should trample on her. Before Bower 
could recover his balance, for his hobnails caused 
him to slip on the tiled floor, Spencer was halfway 
across the inner hall, and approaching the ekvator. 

An official of the hotel hastened forward with 
ready proffer of help. “ This way,” he said sym- 
pathetically. “ The lady was overcome by the heat 
after so many hours in the intense cold. It often 
occurs. She will recover soon. Bring her to a 
chair in the office.” 

But Spencer was not willing that Helen’s first 
wondering glance should rest on strangers, or that, 
when able to walk to her own apartments, she should 
be compelled to pass through the ranks of gapers 
in the lounge. 

No,” he said. “ Ring for the elevator. This 
lady must be taken to her room, — No. 80, 1 believe, — 
then the manageress and a chambermaid can attend 
to her. Quick ! the elevator ! ” 

217 


THE SILENT BARRIER 


Bower turned on Millicent like an angry bull. 

You have chosen your own method,” he growled. 
“Very well. You shall pay for it.” 

Her venom was such that she was by no means 
disturbed by his threat. “ The other man — the 
American who brought her here — seems to have 
bested you throughout,” she taunted him. 

He drew himself up with a certain dignity. He 
was aware that every tongue in the place was stilled, 
that every ear was tuned to catch each note of this 
fantastic quartet, — a sonata appassionata in which 
vibrated the souls of men and women. He looked 
from Millicent’s pallid face to the faces of the lis- 
teners, some of whom made pretense of polite in- 
difference, while others did not scruple to exhibit 
their eager delight. If nothing better, the episode 
would provide an abundance of spicy gossip during 
the enforced idleness caused by the weather. 

“ The lady whom you are endeavoring to malign, 
will, I hope, do me the honor of becoming my wife,” 
he said. “ That being so, she is beyond the reach 
of the slanderous malice of an ex-chorus girl.” 

He spoke slowly, with the air of a man who 
weighed his words. A thrill that could be felt ran 
through his intent audience. Mark Bower, the mil- 
lionaire, the financial genius who dominated more 
than one powerful group in the city, who controlled 
a ring of theaters in London and the provinces, who 
had declined a knighthood, and would surely be cre- 
ated a peer with the next change of government, — ■ 
218 


HELEN LIVES A CROWDED HOUR 


that he should openly declare himself a suitor for 
the hand of a penniless girl was a sensation with a 
vengeance. His description of Millicent as an ex- 
chorus girl offered another bonne houche to the 
crowd. She would never again skip airily behind 
the footlights of the Wellington, or any other im- 
portant theater in England. So far as she was 
concerned, the musical comedy candle that succeeded 
to the sacred lamp of West End burlesque was 
snuffed out. 

Millicent was actress enough not to flinch from 
the goad. ‘‘ A charming and proper sentiment,” 
she cried with well simulated flippancy. “ The mar- 
riage of Mr. Mark Bower will be quite a fashion- 
able event, provided always that he secures the as- 
sent of the American gentleman who is paying his 
future wife’s expenses during her present holiday.” 

Now, so curiously constituted is human nature, 
or the shallow worldliness that passes current for it 
among the homeless gadabouts who pose as British 
society on the Continent, that already the current of 
opinion in the hotel was setting steadily in Helen’s fa- 
vor. The remarkable change dated from the moment 
of Bower’s public announcement of his matrimonial 
plans. Many of those present were regretting a lost 
opportunity. It was obvious to the meanest intel- 
ligence — and the worn phrase took a new vitality 
when applied to some among the company — that any 
kindness shown to Helen during the preceding fort- 
night would be repaid a hundredfold when she be- 
^19 


THE SILENT BARRIER 


came Mrs. Mark Bower. Again, not even the bit- 
terest of her critics could allege that she was flirt- 
ing with the quiet mannered American who had just 
carried her off like a new Paris. She had lived in 
the same hotel for a whole week without speaking 
a word to him. If anything, she had shown favor 
only to Bower, and that in a way so decorous and 
discreet that more than one woman there was amazed 
by her careless handling of a promising situation. 
Just give one of them the chance of securing such 
a prize fish as this stalwart millionaire! Well, at 
least he should not miss the hook for lack of a bait. 

Oddly enough, the Rev. Philip Hare gave voice to 
a general sentiment when he interfered in the duel. 
He, like others, was waiting for his letters. He 
saw Helen come in, and was hurrying to offer his 
congratulations on her escape from the storm, when 
the appearance of Millicent prevented him from 
speaking at once. The little man was hot with 
vexation at the scene that followed. He liked Helen; 
he was unutterably shocked by Millicent’s attack ; and 
he resented the unfair and untrue construction that 
must be placed on her latest innuendo. 

“ As one who has made Miss Wynton’s acquaint- 
ance in this hotel,” he broke in vehemently, I must 
protest most emphatically against the outrageous 
statement we have just heard. If I may say it, it 
is unworthy of the lady who is responsible for it. 
I know nothing of your quarrel, nor do I wish to 
figure in it; but I do declare, on my honor as a 
220 


HELEN LIVES A CROWDED HOUR 


clergyman of the Church of England, that Miss 
Wynton’s conduct in Maloja has in no way lent 
itself to the inference one is compelled to draw from 
the words used.” 

“ Thank you, Mr. Hare,” said Bower quietly, and 
a subdued murmur of applause buzzed through the 
gathering. 

There is a legend in Zermatt that Saint Theodule, 
patron of the Valais, wishing to reach Rome in a 
hurrj^ sought demoniac aid to surmount the im- 
passable barrier of the Alps. Opening his window, 
he saw three devils dancing merrily on the house- 
tops. He called them. “ Which of you is the 
speediest.?” he asked. “I,” said one, “I am swift 
as the wind.” — ‘‘ Bah ! ” cried the second, “ I can 
fly like a bullet.” — “ These two talk idly,” said the 
third. “ I am quick as the thought of a woman.” 
The worthy prelate chose the third. The hour be- 
ing late, he bargained that he should be carried to 
Rome and back before cockcrow, the price for the 
service to be his saintly soul. The imp flew well, 
and returned to the valley of the Rhone long ere 
dawn. Joyous at his gain, he was- about to bound 
over the wall of the episcopal city of Sion, when St. 
Theodule roared lustily, “ Coq, chante! Que tu 
chantes! Ou que jamais plus tu ne chant es! ” Every 
cock in Sion awoke at his voice, and raised such a 
din that the devil dropped a bell given to his saint- 
ship by the Holy Father, and Saint Theodule was 
snug and safe inside it. 


THE SILENT BARRIER 


The prelate was right in his choice of the third. 
The thoughts of two women took wings instantly. 
Mrs. de la Vere, throwing away a half-smoked 
cigarette, hurried out of the veranda. Millicent 
Jaques, whose carriage was ready for the long drive 
to St. Moritz, decided to remain in Maloja. 

The outer door opened, with a rush of cold air 
and a whirl of snow. People expected the postman; 
but Stampa entered, — only Stampa, the broken sur- 
vivor of the little band of guides who conquered the 
Matterhorn. He doffed his Alpine hat, and seemed 
to be embarrassed by the unusually large throng as- 
sembled in the passageway. Bower saw him, and 
strode away into the dimly lighted foyer. 

“ Pardon, ^sieurs et 'dames,''* said Stampa, ad- 
vancing with his uneven gait, a venerable and pa- 
thetic figure, the wreck of a giant, a man who had 
aged years in a single day. He went to the bureau, 
and asked permission to seek Herr Spencer in his 
room. 

Helen was struggling back to consciousness when 
Mrs. de la Vere joined the kindly women who were 
loosening her bodice and chafing her hands and 
feet. 

The first words the girl heard were in English. 
A woman’s voice was saying cheerfully, “ There, my 
dear!” a simple formula of marvelous recuperative 
effect, — “ there now I You are all right again. But 
your room is bitterly cold. Won’t you come into 
222 


HELEN LIVES A CROWDED HOUR 


mine? It is quite near, and my stove has been alight 
all day.” 

Helen, opening her eyes, found herself gazing up 
at Mrs. de la Vere. Real sympathy ranks high 
among good deeds. The girl’s lips quivered. Re- 
turning life brought with it tears. 

The woman whom she had regarded as a social 
butterfly sat beside her on the bed and placed a 
friendly arm round her neck. “ Don’t cry, you dear 
thing,” she cooed gently. ‘‘ There is nothing to cry 
about. You are a bit overwrought, of course; but, 
as it happens, you have scored heavily off all of us — 
and not least off* the creature who upset you. Now, 
do try and come with me. Here are your slippers. 
The corridor is empty. It is only a few steps.” 

“ Come with you ? ” 

“ Yes, you are shivering with the cold, and my 
room is gloriously warm.” 

“ But ” 

“ There are no buts. Marie will bring a basin 
of nice hot soup. While you are drinking it she will 
set your stove going. I know exactly how you feel. 
The whole world is topsyturvy, and 3mu don’t think 
there is a smile in your make-up, as that dear Ameri- < 
can man who carried you here would say.” 

Helen recovered her senses with exceeding rapid- 
ity. Mrs. de la Vere was already leading her to the 
door. 

“ What ! Mr. Spencer — did he ” 

“ He did. Come, now. I shall tell you all the 

22S 


THE SILENT BARRIER 


trying details when you are seated in my easy chair, 
and wrapped in the duckiest Shetland shawl that a 
red headed laird sent me last Christmas. Excellent ! 
Of course you can walk! Isn’t every other woman 
in the hotel well aware how you got that lovely 
figure.? Yes, in that chair. And here is the shawl. 
It’s just like being cuddled by a woolly lamb.” 

Mrs. de la Vere turned the keys in two doors. 
“ Reggie always knocks,” she explained ; “ but some 
inquisitive cat may follow me here, and I am sure 
you don’t wish to be gushed over now, after every- 
body has been so horrid to you.” 

“ You were not,” said Helen gratefully. 

“Yes, I was, in a way. I hate most women; but 
I admired you ever since you took the conceit out 
of that giddy husband of mine. If I didn’t speak, 
it arose from sheer laziness — a sort of drifting with 
the stream, in tow of the General and that old mis- 
chief maker, Mrs. Vavasour. I’m sorry, and you 
will be quite justified to-morrow morning in sailing 
past me and the rest as though we were beetles.” 

Then Helen laughed, feebly, it is true, but with 
a genuine mirth that chased away momentarily the 
evergrowing memory of Millicent’s injustice. “ Why 
do you mention beetles ? ” she asked. “ It is part 
of my every day work to classify them.” 

Mrs. de la Vere was puzzled. “ I believe you have 
said something very cutting,” she cried. “ If you 
did, we deserve it. But please tell me the joke. I 
shall hand it on to the Wraggs.” 


HELEN LIVES A CROWDED HOUR 


There is no joke. I act as secretary to a Ger- 
man professor of entomology — insects, you know; 
he makes beetles a specialty.” 

The other woman’s eye danced. “ It is all very 
funny,” she said, “ and I still have my doubts. Never 
mind. I want to atone for earlier shortcomings. I 
felt that someone really ought to tell you what 
took place in the outer foyer after you sank grace- 
fully out of the act. Mr. Bower ” 

A tap on the door leading into the corridor in- 
terrupted her. It was Marie, armed with chicken 
broth and dry toast. Mrs. de la Vere, who seemed 
to be filled with an honest anxiety to place Helen at 
her ease, persuaded her to begin sipping the com- 
pound. 

“Well, what did Mr. Bower do.^” demanded 
Helen, who was wondering now why she had fainted. 
The accusation brought against her by Millicent 
Jaques was untrue. Why should it disturb her so 
gravely.'^ It did not occur to her that the true 
cause was physical, — a too sudden change of tem- 
perature. 

“ He sat on that young woman from the Welling- 
ton Theater very severely, I assure you. From her 
manner we all imagined she had some sort of claim 
on him; but if she was laboring under any such de- 
lusion he cured her. He said — ^Are you really strong 
enough to stand a shock ” 

“ Twenty shocks. I can’t think how I could have 
been so silly ” 


THE SILENT BARRIER 


Nerves, my dear. We all have ’em. Sometimes, 
if I didn’t smoke I should scream. No woman really 
likes to see her husband flirting openly with her 
friends. I’m no saint; but my wickedness is de- 
fensive. Now, are you ready? ” 

“ Quite ready.” 

“ Mr. Bower told us, tout le monde, you know, 
that he meant to marry you.” 

. “Oh!” said Helen. 

During an appreciable pause neither woman spoke. 
Helen was not sure whether she wanted to laugh 
or be angry. Mrs. de la Vere eyed her curiously. 
The girl’s face was yet white and drawn. It was 
impossible to guess how the great news affected her. 
The de la Veres were poor on two thousand a 
year. What did it feel like to be the prospective 
bride of a millionaire, especially when you were — 
what was it.? — secretary to a man who collected 
beetles ! 

“ Did Mr. Bower assign any reason for making 
that remarkable statement? ” said Helen at last. 

“ He explained that the fact — I suppose it is a 
fact — would safeguard you from the malice of an 
ex-coryphee. Indeed, he put it more brutally. He 
spoke of the ‘ slanderous malice of an ex-chorus 
girl.’ The English term sounds a trifle harsher than 
the French, don’t you think?” 

It began to dawn on Helen that Mrs. de la Vere’s 
friendliness might have a somewhat sordid founda- 
tion. Was she tending her merely to secure the 
226 


HELEN LIVES A CROWDED HOUR 


freshest details of an affair that must be causing 
many tongues to wag? 

“ I am acquiring new theories of life since I came 
to Maloja,” she said slowly. “ One would have 
thought that I might be the first person to be made 
aware of Mr. Bower’s intentions.” 

‘‘ Oh, this is really too funny. May I light a 
cigarette ? ” 

“ Please do. And now it is my turn to ask you 
to point out the exquisite humor of the situation.” 

“ Don’t be vexed with me, child. You needn’t say 
another word if you don’t wish it; but surely you 
are not annoyed because I have given you the tip 
as to what took place in the hall? ” 

“ You have been exceedingly good ” 

“No. I haven’t. I was just as nasty as the 
others, and I sneered like the rest when Bower showed 
up a fortnight since. I was wrong, and I apologize 
for it. Regard me as in sackcloth and ashes. But 
my heart went out to you when you dropped like a 
log among all those staring people. I’ve — I’ve done 
it myself, and my case was worse than yours. Once 
in my life I loved a man, and I came home one day 
from the hunting field to read a telegram from the 
War Office. He was ‘ missing,’ it said — missing — in 
a rear-guard action in Tirah. Do you know what 
that means ? ” 

A cloud of smoke hid her face; but it could not 
stifle the sob in her voice. There was a knock at 
the door. 


THE SILENT BARRIER 


Are you there, Edith ? ” demanded Reginald de 
la Vere. 

‘ “ Yes. Go away ! I’m busy.” 

“ But ” 

“ Go away, I tell you ! ” 

Then she jerked a scornful hand toward the door. 
“ Six months later I was married — men who are 
missed among the Afridis don’t come back,” she said. 

“ I’m more sorry than I can put into words ! ” 
murmured Helen. 

“ For goodness’ sake don’t let us grow sentimental. 
Shall we return to our sheep.? Don’t be afraid that 
I shall pasture the goats in the hall on your confi- 
dences. Hasn’t Bower asked you.? ” 

“ No.” 

‘‘ Then his action was all the more generous. He 
meant to squelch that friend of yours — is she your 
friend.? ” 

“ She used to be,” said Helen sadly. 

‘‘And what do you mean to do about it.? You 
will marry Bower, of course?” 

Helen’s heart fluttered. Her color rose in a sud- 
den wave. “ I — I don’t think so,” she breathed. 

“Don’t you.? Well, I like you the better for 
saying so. I can picture myself putting the same 
questions to one of the Wragg girls — to both of ’em, 
in fact. I am older than you, and very much wiser 
in some of the world’s ways, and my advice is. 
Don’t marry any man unless you are sure you love 
him. If you do love him, you may keep him, for 


HELEN LIVES A CROWDED HOUR 


men are patient creatures. But that is for you to 
decide. I can’t help you there. I am mainly con- 
cerned, for the moment, in helping you over the 
ice during the next day or two — if you will let me, 
that is. Probably you have determined not to ap- 
pear in public to-night. That will be a mistake. 
Wear your prettiest frock, and dine with Reggie 
and me. We shall invite Mr. Bower to join us, and 
two other people — some man and woman I can de- 
pend on to keep things going. If we laugh and 
kick up no end of a noise, it will not only worry 
the remainder of the crowd, but you score heavily 
off the theatrical lady. See?” 

“ I can see that you are acting the part of the 
good Samaritan,” cried Helen. 

“ Oh, dear, no — nothing so antiquated. Look at 
your future position — the avowed wife of a million- 
aire. Eh, what? as Georgie says.” 

“ But I am not anything of the kind. Mr. 
Bower ” 

“ Mr. Bower is all right. He has the recognized 
history of the man who makes a good husband, and 
you can’t help liking him, unless — unless there is 
another man.” 

“ There, at least, I am ” Helen hesitated. 

Something gripped her heart and checked the mod- 
est protestation of her freedom. 

Mrs. de la Vere laughed. “ If you are not sure, 
you are safe,” she said, with a hard ring in her 
utterance that belied her easygoing philosophy. 


THE SILENT BARRIER 


“ Really, you bring me back a lost decade. Now, 
Helen — may I call you Helen.?” 

“ Yes, indeed.” 

“ Well, then, don’t forget that my name is Edith. 
You have just half an hour to dress. I need every 
second of the time ; so off you run to your room. As 
I hear Reggie flinging his boots around next door, 
I shall hurry him and arrange about the table. Call 
for me. We must go to the foyer together. Now 
kiss me, there’s a dear.” 

Helen was wrestling with her refractory tresses — 
for the coiflTure that suits glaciers and Tam o’ Shan- 
ters is not permissible in evening dress — ^when a serv- 
ant brought her a note. 

“ Dear JVIiss Wynton,” it ran, — " If you are able to come 
down to dinner, why not dine with me? Sincerely, 

“ Charles K. Spencer.” 

She blushed and laughed a little. “ I am in de- 
mand,” she thought, flashing a pardonable glance 
at her own face in the mirror. She read the brief 
invitation again. Spencer had a trick of printing 
the K in his signature. It caught her fancy. It 
suggested strength, trustworthiness. She did not 
know then that one of the shrewdest scoundrels in 
the Western States had already commented on cer- 
tain qualities betokened by that letter in Spencer’s 
name. 

“ I cannot refuse,” she murmured. “ To be can- 
did, I don’t want to refuse. What shall I do? ” 

230 


HELEN LIVES A CROWDED HOUR 


Bidding the servant wait, she twisted her hair into 
a coil, threw a wrap round her shoulders, and tapped 
on Mrs. de la Vere’s door. 

“ Entrezl ” cried that lady. 

“ I am in a bit of difficulty,” said Helen. Mr. 
Spencer wishes me to dine with him. Would 
you ” 

‘‘ Certainly. I’ll ask him to join us. Reggie will 
see him too. Really, Helen, this is amusing. I am 
beginning to suspect you.” 

So Spencer received a surprising answer. He 
read it without any sign of the amusement Mrs. 
de la Vere extracted from the situation, for Helen 
took care to recite the whole arrangement. 

“ I’m going through with this,” he growled sav- 
agely, “ even if I have to drink Bower’s health — 
danm him I ” 


231 





CHAPTER XII 

THE ALLIES 

- Seldom, if ever, has a more strangely assorted 
party met at dinner than that which gathered in 
the Hotel Kursaal under the social wing of Mrs. de 
la Vere. Her husband, while being coached in es- 
sentials, was the first to discover its incongruities. 

“ Where Miss Wynton is concerned, you are 
warned off,” his wife told him dryly. “ You must 
console yourself with Mrs. Badminton-Smythe. She 
will stand anything to cut out a younger and pret- 
tier woman.” 

“Where do you come in, Edie?” said he; for 
Mrs. de la Vere’s delicate aristocratic beauty seemed 
to be the natural complement of her sporting style, 
and to-night there was a wistful charm in her 
face that the lively Reginald had not seen there 
before. 

She turned aside, busying herself with her toilet. 

2S2 


THE ALLIES 


“ I don’t come in. I went out five years ago,” she 
cried, with a mocking laugh. 

“ Do you know,” he muttered, “ I often wonder 
why the deuce you an’ I got married.” 

“ Because, sweet Reginald, we were made for each 
other by a wise Providence. What other woman 
of your acquaintance would tolerate you — as a hus- 
band ? ” 

“ Oh, dash it all ! if it comes to that ” 

“ For goodness’ sake, don’t fuss, or begin to think. 
Run away and interview the head waiter. Then 
you are to buttonhole Bower and the American. I 
am just sending a chit to the Badminton-Smythes.” 

“Who is my partner 
Lulu, of course.” 

De la Vere was puzzled, and looked it. “ I sup- 
pose it is all right,” he growled. “ Still, I can’t help 
thinking you’ve got something up your sleeve, Edie.” 

She stamped a very pretty foot angrily. “ Do 
as I tell you! Didn’t you hear what Bower said.^ 
He will be everlastingly obliged to u^ for coming 
to the rescue in this fashion. Next time you have 
a flutter in the city, his friendship may be useful.” 

“ By gad ! ” cried Reginald, beginning, as he fan- 
cied, to see light, “ something seems to have bitten 
you this evening. Tell you what — Lulu is a non- 
runner. Get Bower to put you on to a soft thing 
in Africans, an’ you an’ I will have a second honey- 
moon in Madeira next winter. Honor bright! I 
mean it.” 


2SS 


THE SILENT BARRIER 


She seized a silver mounted brush from the dress- 
ing table with the obvious intent of speeding his de- 
parture. He dodged out, and strolled down the 
corridor. 

“ Never saw Edie in that sort of tantrum before,” 
j he said to himself. If she only knew how sick I 
was of all this jolly rot, p’r’aps we’d run better in 
double harness.” 

So it came to pass, when the company assembled 
in the great dining room, that Bower sat on Mrs. 
de la Vere’s left, and Spencer on her right. Beyond 
them, respectively, were Lulu Badminton-Smythe 
and her husband, and between these latter were de 
la Vere and Helen. Thus, the girl was separated 
from the two men whom her shrewd eyed hostess 
had classed as rivals, while the round table made 
possible a general conversation. 

The talk could hardly fail to turn on the day’s 
adventures. Spencer, who had never before in his 
life thrust himself forward in a social gathering, did 
so now with fixed purpose. He meant to eclipse 
Bower in a territory where that polished man of the 
world was accustomed to reign unchallenged. But 
he had the wisdom to wait. He guessed, not without 
good cause, that more than one late arrival would 
pause beside their table and make polite inquiries 
as to the climbers’ well being. These interruptions 
were fatal to Bower’s well balanced periods. The 
journey to the hut, therefore, was dealt with jerkily. 

When Spencer took up the thread, he caught and 

234i 


THE ALLIES 


held the attention of his hearers. In this he was 
helped considerably by his quaint idioms. To Eng- 
lish ears, American expressions are always amus- 
ing. Spencer, of course, could speak quite as cor- 
rect English as anyone present; but he realized that 
in thisi instance a certain amount of picturesque ex- 
aggeration would lend itself to humor. His quick 
ear too had missed none of the queer mixture of 
prayers and objurgations with which Karl and the 
two guides hailed every incident. His selections set 
them all in a roar. In fact, they were the liveliest 
party in the room. Many an eye was drawn by 
a merriment that offered such striking contrast to 
the dramatic episode in the outer hall. 

‘‘ The one person missing from that crowd is the 
stage lady,” was Miss Gladys Wragg’s caustic com- 
ment, when Badminton-Smythe evoked a fresh out- 
burst by protesting that he forgot to eat his fish 
owing to Spencer’s beastly funny yam. 

And Miss Wragg’s criticism was justified. It only 
^deeded Millicent’s presence to add a wizard’s touch 
to the amazement with which Mrs. Vavasour and 
others of her kind regarded the defection of the de 
la Veres and the Badminton-Smythes. But Milli- 
cent was dining in her own room. The last thing 
she dreamed of was that Helen would face the other 
residents in the hotel after the ordeal she had gone 
through an hour earlier. She half expected that 
Bower would endeavor to meet her privatelyi while 
dinner was being served. She was ready for him, 
235 


THE SILENT BARRIER 

She prepared a number of sarcastic little speeches, 
each with a subtle venom of its own, and even re- 
hearsed a pose or two with a view toward scenic 
effect. But she had neither taken Bower’s measure 
nor counted on Mrs. de la Vere’s superior strategy. 
Ail that happened was that she ate a lukewarm meal, 
and was left to wonder at her onetime admirer’s 
boldness in accepting a situation that many a daring 
man would have striven to evade. 

After dinner it was the custom of the habitues 
to break up into small groups and arrange the 
night’s amusement. Dancing claimed the younger 
element, while card games had their devotees. Mrs. 
de la Vere danced invariably; but to-night she de- 
voted herself to Helen. She was under no illusions. 
Bower and Spencer were engaged in a quiet duel, 
and the victor meant to monopolize the girl for the 
remainder of the evening. That was preventable. 
They could fight their battle on some other occasion. 
At present there was one thing of vital importance, 
— the unpleasant impression created by the actress’s 
bitter attack must be dissipated, and Mrs. de la 
Vere, secretly marveling at her own enthusiasm, 
aimed at the achievement. 

“ Don’t be drawn away from me on any pretext,” 
she whispered, linking her arm through Helen’s as 
they passed out into the foyer. “ And be gracious 
to everybody, even to those who have been most 
cattish.” 

Helen was far too excited and grateful to har- 

236 


THE ALLIES 


bor animosity. Moreover, she dreaded the chance 
of being left alone with Bower. As he had already 
declared his intentions publicly, she was sure he 
would seize the first opportunity to ask her to marry 
him. And what would be her answer.? She hardly 
knew. She must have time to think. She must 
search her own heart. She almost flinched from the 
succeeding thought, — was it that her soul had found 
another mate.? If that was so, she must refuse 
Bower, though the man she was learning to love 
might pass out of her life and leave her desolate. 

She liked Bower, even respected him. Never for 
an instant had the notion intruded that he had fol- 
lowed her to Switzerland with an unworthy motive. 
To her mind, nothing could be more straightforward 
than their acquaintance. The more she reflected on 
Millicent Jaques’s extraordinary conduct, the more 
she was astounded by its utter baselessness. And 
Bower was admirable in many ways. He stood high 
in the opinion of the world. He was rich, cultured, 
and seemingly very deeply enamored of her unde- 
serving self. What better husband could any girl 
desire.? He would give her everything that made 
life worth living. Indeed, if the truth must be told, 
she was phenomenally lucky. 

Thus did she strive to silence misgivings, to quell 
doubt, to order and regulate a blurred medley of 
subconscious thought. While laughing, and talking, 
and making the most successful efforts to be at ease 
with the dozens of people who came and spoke to 
2S7 


THE SILENT BARRIER 


Mrs. de la Vere and herself, she felt like some frail 
vessel dancing blithely in a swift, smooth current, 
yet hastening ever to the verge of a cataract. 

• Once Bower approached, skillfully piloting Mrs. 
Badminton-Smythe ; for Reginald, tiring of the role 
thrust on him by his wife, had gone to play bridge. 
It was his clear intent to take Helen from her 
chaperon. 

It is still snowing, though not so heavily,” he 
said. “ Come on the veranda, and look at the land- 
scape. The lake is a pool of ink in the middle of a 
white table cloth.” 

“ The snow will be far more visible in the morn- 
ing, and we have a lot of ice to melt here,” inter- 
posed Mrs. de la Vere quickly. 

The man and woman, both well versed in the ways 
of society, looked each other squarely in the eye. 
Though disappointed, the man understood, was even 
appreciative. 

“ Miss Wynton is fortunate in her friends,” he 
said, and straightway went to the writing room. He 
felt that Helen was safe with this unexpected ally. 
He could afford to bide his time. Nothing could 
now undo the effect of his open declaration while 
flouting Millicent Jaques. If he gave that wayward 
young person a passing thought, it was one of glad- 
ness that she had precipitated matters. There re- 
mained only an unpleasant meeting with Stampa in 
the morning. He shuddered at the recollection that 
he had nearly done a foolish thing while crossing the 


THE ALLIES 


crevasse. What sinister influence could have so 
weakened his nerve as to make him think of mur- 
der? Crime was the last resource of impaired in- 
tellect. He was able to laugh now at the stupid mem- 
ory of it. 

True, the American 

By the way, what did Millicent mean by her 
shrewish cry that Spencer was paying for Helen’s 
holiday? So engrossed was he in other directions 
that his early doubts with regard to “ The Fire- 
fly’s ” unprecedented enterprise in sending a repre- 
sentative to this out-of-the-way Swiss valley had 
been lulled to sleep. Of course, he had caused cer- 
tain inquiries to be made — that was his method. One 
of the telegrams he dispatched from Zurich after 
Helen’s train bustled off to Coire started the inves- 
tigation. Thus far, a trusted clerk> could only as- 
certain that the newspaper had undoubtedly com- 
missioned the girl on the lines indicated. Still, the 
point demanded attention. He resolved to telegraph 
further instructions in the morning, with Spencer’s 
name added as a clew, though, to be sure, he was 
not done with Millicent yet. He would reckon with 
her also on the morrow. Perhaps, if he annoyed 
her sufficiently, she might explain that cryptic 
taunt. 

Could he have seen a letter that was brought to 
Spencer’s room before dinner, the telegram would 
not have been written. Mackenzie, rather incoherent 
with indignation, sent a hurried scrawl. 

^39 


THE SILENT BARRIER 


“ Dear Mr. Spexcer,” it ran, — “A devil of a thing has hap- 
pened. To-day,” the date being three days old, “ I went out to 
lunch, leaving a thick headed subeditor in charge. I had not 
been gone ten minutes when a stage fairy, all frills and flounces, 
whisked into the office and asked for Miss Wynton’s address. 
My assistant succumbed instantly. He was nearly asphyxiated 
with joy at being permitted to entertain, not unawares, that 
angel of musical comedy. Miss Millicent Jaques. His maunder- 
ing excuse is that you yourself seemed to acknowledge Miss 
Jaques’s right to be acquainted with her friend’s whereabouts. 
I have good reason to believe that the frail youth not only 
spoke of Maloja, but supplied such details as were known to 
him of your kindness in the matter. I have cursed him ex- 
tensively; but that can make no amends. At any rate, I feel 
that you should be told, and it only remains for me to express 
my lasting regret that the incident should have occurred.” 

This letter, joined to certain lurid statements 
made by Stampa, had induced Spencer to accept 
Mrs. de la Vere’s invitation. Little as he cared to 
dine in Bower’s company, it was due to Helen that 
he should not refuse. He was entangled neck and 
heels in a net of his own contriving. For very 
shame’s sake, he could not wriggle out, leaving Helen 
in the toils. 

Surely there never was a day more crammed with 
contrarieties. He witnessed his adversary’s rebuff, 
and put it down to its rightful cause. No sooner 
had he discovered Mrs. de la Vere’s apparent motive 
in keeping the girl by her side, than he was button- 
holed by the Rev. Philip Hare. 

“ You know I am not an ardent admirer of 
Bower,” said the cleric ; “ but I must admit that it 

240 


THE ALLIES 


was very manly of him to make that outspoken state- 
ment about Miss Wynton.” 

“ What statement ? ” asked Spencer. 

“ Ah, I had forgotten. You were not present, 
of course. He made the other woman’s hysterical 
outburst supremely ridiculous by saying, in effect, 
that he meant to marry Miss Wynton.” 

“ He said that, eh.? ” 

“ Yes. He was quite emphatic. I rebuked Miss 
Jaques myself, and he thanked me.” 

“ Everything was nicely cut and dried in my ab- 
sence, it seems.” 

“ Well— er ” 

“ The crowd evidently lost sight of the fact that 
I had carried off the prospective bride.” 

‘‘ N-no. Miss Jaques called attention to it.” 

“ Guess her head is screwed on straight, padre. 
She made a bad break in attacking Miss Wynton; 
but when she set about Bower she was running on 
a strong scent. Sit tight, Mr. Hare. Don’t take 
sides, or whoop up the wrong spout, and you’ll see 
heaps of fun before you’re much older.”* 

Mightily incensed, the younger man turned away. 
The vicar produced his handkerchief and trumpeted 
into it loudly. 

‘‘ God bless my soul ! ” he said, and repeated the 
pious wish, for he felt that it did him good, “ how 
does one whoop up the wrong spout.? And what 
happens if one does.? And how remarkably touchy 
everybody seems to be. Next time I apply to the 
241 


THE SILENT BARRIER 


C.M.S. for an Alpine station, I shall stipulate for 
a low altitude. I am sure this rarefied air is bad 
for the nerves.” 

Nevertheless, Hare’s startling communication was 
the one thing needed to clear away the doubts that 
beset Spencer at the dinner table. He had seen Mrs. 
de la Vere enter Helen’s bedroom when he left the 
girl in charge of a gesticulating maid; but an act 
of womanly solicitude did not explain the friendship 
that sprang so suddenly into existence. Now he un- 
derstood, or thought he understood, which is a man’s 
way when he seeks to interpret a woman’s mind. 
Mrs. de la Vere, like the rest, was dazzled by Bower’s 
wealth. After ignoring Helen during the past fort- 
night, she was prepared to toady to her instantly 
in her new guise as the chosen bride of a millionaire. 
The belief added fuel to the fire already raging in 
his breast. 

There never was man more loyal to woman in 
his secret meditations than Spencer; but his gorge 
rose at the sight of Helen’s winsome gratitude to 
one so unworthy of it. With him, now as ever, to 
think was to act. 

Watching his chance, he waylaid Helen when her 
vigilant chaperon was momentarily absorbed in a 
suggestion that private theatricals and the re- 
hearsal of a minuet would relieve the general tedium 
while the snow held. 

“ Spare me five minutes. Miss Wynton,” he said. 

I want to tell you something.” 

24<2 


THE ALLIES 


Mrs. de la Vere piroueted round on him before 
the girl could answer. 

“ Miss Wynton is just going to bed,” she in- 
formed him graciously. “You know how tired she 
is, Mr. Spencer. You must wait till the morning.” 

“ I don’t feel like waiting ; but I promise to cut 
down my remarks to one minute — by the clock.” 
He answered Mrs. de la Vere, but looked at Helen. 

Her color rose and fell almost with each beat of 
her heart. She saw the steadfast purpose in his 
eyes, and shrank from the decision she would be 
called upon to make. Hardly realizing what form 
the words took, she gave faint utterance to the first 
lucid idea that presented itself. “ I think — I must 
really — go to my room,” she murmured. “ You 
wouldn’t — like me — to faint twice in one evening — 
Mr. Spencer.? ” 

It was an astonishing thing to say, the worst 
thing possible. It betrayed an exact knowledge of 
his purpose in seeking this interview. His eyes 
blazed with a quick light. It seemed that he was 
answered before he spoke. 

“ Not one second. Go away, do ! ” broke in Mrs. 
de la Vere, whisking Helen toward the elevator with- 
out further parley. But she shot a glance at Spen- 
cer over her shoulder that he could not fail to in- 
terpret as a silent message of encouragement. 
Forthwith he viewed her behavior from a more 
favorable standpoint. 

“ Guess the feminine make-up is more complex 

243 


THE SILENT BARRIER 


than I counted on/’ he communed, as he bent over 
a table to find a match, that being a commonplace 
sort of action calculated to disarm suspicion, lest 
others might be observing him, and wondering why 
the women retired so promptly. 

“ I like your American, my dear,” said Mrs. de la 
Vere sympathetically, in the solitude of the corridor. 

Helen was silent. 

“ If you want to cry, don’t mind me,” went on the 
kindly cynic. “ I’m coming in with you. I’ll light 
up while you weep, and then you must tell me all 
about it. That will do you a world of good.” 

“ There’s n-n-nothing to tell ! ” bleated Helen. 

“ Oh yes, there is. You silly child, to-morrow you 
will have to choose between those two men. Which 
shall it be.? I said before dinner that I couldn’t 
help you to decide. Perhaps I was mistaken. Any- 
how, I’ll try.” 

At midnight the snow storm ceased, the wind 
died away, and the still air deposited its vapor on 
hills and valley in a hoar frost. The sun rose with 
a magnificent disregard for yesterday’s riot. 

Spencer’s room faced the southeast. When the 
valet drew his blind in the morning the cold room 
was filled with a balmy warmth. A glance through 
the window, however, dispelled a germ of hope that 
Helen and he might start on the promised walk to 
Vicosoprano. The snow lay deep in the pass, and 
probably extended a mile or two down into the Vale 


THE ALLIES 


of Bregaglia. The rapid thaw that would set in 
during the forenoon might clear the roads before 
sunset. Next day, walking would be practicable; 
to-day it meant wading. 

He looked through the Orlegna gorge, and caught 
the silvery sheen of the Cima di Rosso’s snow capped 
summit. Hardly a rock was visible. The gale had 
clothed each crag with a white shroud. All day long 
the upper reaches of the glacier would ba pelted by 
avalanches. It struck him that an early stroll to 
the highest point of the path beyond Cavloccio 
might be rewarded with a distant view of several 
falls. In any case, it provided an excellent pretext 
for securing Helen’s company, and he would havt 
cheerfully suggested a trip in a balloon to attain thft 
same object. 

The temperature of his bath water induced doubtt 
as to the imminence of the thaw. Indeed, the air 
was bitterly cold as yet. The snow lay closely on 
roads and meadow land. It had the texture of fine* 
powder. Passing traffic left shallow, well defined 
marks. A couple of stablemen swung their arms 
to restore circulation. The breath of horses and 
cattle showed in dense clouds. 

For once in his life the color of a tie and the style 
of his clothes became matters of serious import. At 
first, he was blind to the humor of it. He hesitated 
between the spruce tightness of a suit fashioned by 
a New York tailor and the more loosely designed 
garments he had purchased in London. Then he 
^45 


THE SILENT BARRIER 


laughed and reddened. Flinging both aside, he 
chose the climber’s garb worn the previous day, and 
began to dress hurriedly. Therein he was well ad- 
vised. Nothing could better become} his athletic 
figure. He was that type of man who looks thinner 
when fully clothed. He had never spared himself 
when asking others to work hard, and he received his 
guerdon now in a frame of iron and sinews of pliant 
steel. 

Helen usually came down to breakfast at half- 
past eight. She had the healthy British habit of 
beginning the day with a good meal, and Spencer 
indulged in the conceit that he might be favored with 
a tete-a-tete before they started for the projected 
walk. Neither Bower nor Mrs. de la Vere ever put 
in an appearance at that hour. Though Americans 
incline to the Continental manner of living, this true 
Westerner found himself a sudden convert to Eng- 
lish methods. In a word, he was in love, and 
his lady could not err. To please her he was 
prepared to abjure iced water — even to drink 
tea. 

But, as often happens, his cheery mood was des- 
tined to end in disappointment. He lingered a whole 
hour in the salle a manger, but Helen came not. 
Then he rose in a panic. What if she had break- 
fasted in her room, and was already basking in the 
sunlit veranda — perhaps listening to Bower’s elo- 
quence.? He rushed out so suddenly that his waiter 
was amazed. Really, these Americans were incom- 
246 


1 

;] 




1 


THE ALLIES 


prehensible — weird as the English. The two races 
dwelt far apart, but they moved in the same erratic 
orbit. To the stolid German mind they were human 
comets, whose comings and goings were not to be 
gaged by any reasonable standard. 

No, the veranda was empty — to him. Plenty of 
people greeted him; but there was no Helen. Ulti- 
mately he reflected that their appointment was for 
ten o’clock. He calmed down, and a pipe became 
obvious. He was enjoying that supremest delight 
of the smoker — the first soothing whiffs of the day’s 
tobacco — when a servant brought him a note. The 
handwriting was strange to his eyes ; but a premoni- 
tion told him that it was Helen’s. Somehow, he ex- 
pected that she would write in a clear, strong, legible 
way. He was not mistaken. She sent a friendly lit- 
tle message that she was devoting the morning to 
work. The weather made it impossible to go to 
Vicosoprano, and in any event she did not feel equal 
to a long walk. “ Yesterday’s events,” she explained, 
“ took more out of me than I imagined.” 

Well, she had been thinking of him, and that 
counted. He was staring at the snow covered tennis 
courts, and wondering how soon the valley would 
regain its summer aspect, when Stampa limped intc» 
sight round the corner of the hotel. He stood at the 
foot of the broad flight of steps, as though waiting 
for someone. Spencer was about to join him for a 
chat, when he recollected that Bower and the guide 
had an arrangement to meet in the morning. 

247 


THE SILENT BARRIER 


With the memory came a queer jumble of impres- 
sions. Stampa’s story, told overnight, was a sad 
one; but the American was too fair minded to affect 
a moral detestation of Bower because of a piece of 
folly that wrecked a girl’s life sixteen years ago. 
If the sins of a man’s youth were to shadow his * 
whole life, then charity and regeneration must be 
cast out of the scheme of things. Moreover, Bower’s 
version of the incident might put a new face on it. 
There was no knowing how he too had been tempted 
and suffered. That he raged against the resurrec- 
tion of a bygone misdeed was shown by his mad 
impulse to kill Stampa on the glacier. That such 
a man, strong in the power of his wealth and social 
position, should even dream of blotting out the past 
by a crime, offered the clearest proof of the frenzy 
that possessed him as soon as he recognized Etta 
Stampa’s father. 

Not one word of his personal belief crossed Spen- 
cer’s lips during the talk with the guide. Rather 
did he impress on his angry and vengeful hearer 
that a forgotten scandal should be left in its tomb. 
He took this line, not that he posed as a moralist, 
but because he hated to acknowledge, even to him- 
self, that he was helped in his wooing by Helen’s 
horror of his rival’s lapse from the standard every 
pure minded woman sets up in her ideal lover. 
Ethically, he might be wrong ; in hi^ conscience he 
was justified. He had suffered too grievously from 
every species of intrigue and calumny during hi« 


i 

\ 

1 

j 

j 






, 1 ] 


248 


THE ALLIES 


own career not to be ultra-sensitive in regard to the 
use of such agents. 

Yet, watching the bent and crippled old man 
waiting there in the snow, a sense of pity and mourn- 
ing chilled his heart with ice cold touch. 

“ If I were Stampa’s son, if that dead girl were 
my sister, how would 1 settle with Bower ” he asked, 
clenching his pipe firmly between his teeth. “ Well, 

I could only ask God to be merciful both to him and 
to me.” 

“ Good gracious, Mr. Spencer ! why that fierce 
gaze at our delightful valley ” came the voice of 
Mrs. de la Vere. “ I am glad none of us can give 
you the address of the Swiss clerk of the weather — 
or you would surely slay him.” 

He turned. Convention demanded a smile and a 
polite greeting; but Spencer was not conventional. 

“ You are a thought reader, Mrs. de la Vere,” he 
said. 

“ ‘ One of my many attractions,’ you should have 
added.” 

I find this limpid light too critical.” 

“ Oh, what a horrid thing to tell any woman, 
especially in the early morning ! ” 

“ I have a wretched habit of putting the second ' 
part of a sentence first. I really intended to say — 
but it is too late.” 

“ It is rather like swallowing the sugar coating 
after the pill; but I’ll try.” 

“ Well, then, this crystal atmosphere does not 

^49 


THE SILENT BARRIER 


lend itself to the obvious. If we were in London, I 
should catalogue your bewitchments lest you imag- 
ined I was blind to them.” 

“That sounds nice, but ” 

“ It demands analysis, so I have failed doubly.” 

“ I don’t feel up to talking like a character in 
one of Henry James’s novels. And you were much 
more amusing last night. Have you seen Miss 
Jaques this morning.? ” 

“ No. That is, I don’t think so.” 

“ Do you know her.? ” 

“ No.” 

“ It would be a kind thing if someone told her 
that there are other places in Switzerland where she 
will command the general admiration she deserves.” 

“ I am inclined to believe that there is a man in 
the hotel who can put that notion before her deli- 
cately.” 

Spencer possessed the unchanging gravity of ex- 
pression that the whole American race seems to have 
borrowed from the Red Indian. Mrs. de la Vere’s 
eyes twinkled as she gazed at him. 

“ You didn’t hear what was said last night,” she 
murmured. “ Where Millicent Jaques is concerned, 
delicacy is absent from Mr. Bower’s make-up — is 
that good New York? ” 

“ It would be understood.” 

This time he smiled. Mrs. de la Vere wished to 
be a friend to Helen. Whatsoever her motive, the 
wish was excellent. 


250 


THE ALLIES 


“ You are severe,” she pouted. “ Of course I 
ought not to mimic you ” 

“ Pray do. I had no idea I spoke so nicely.” 

“ Thank you. But I am serious. I have espoused 
Miss Wynton’s cause, and there will be nothing but 
unhappiness for her while that other girl remains 
here.” 

I hope you are mistaken,” he said slowly, meet- 
ing her quizzing glance without flinching. 

“ That is precisely where a woman’s point of view 
differs from a man’s,” she countered. “ In our lives 
we are swayed by things that men despise. We are 
conscious of sidelong looks and whisperings. We 
dread the finger of scorn. When you have a wife, 
Mr. Spencer, you will begin to realize the limita- 
tions of the feminine horizon.” 

“ Are you asking me to take this demonstrative 
young lady in hand ? ” 

‘‘ I believe you would succeed.” 

Spencer smiled again. He had not credited Mrs. 
de la Vere with such fine perceptiveness. If her 
words meant anything, they implied an alliance, 
offensive and defensive, for Helen’s benefit and his 
own. 

“ Guess we’ll leave it right there till I’ve had a 
few words with Miss Wynton,” he said, dropping 
suddenly into colloquial phrase. 

‘‘ A heart to heart talk, in fact.” She laughed 
pleasantly, and opened her cigarette case. 

“ Tell you what, Mrs. de la Vere,” he said, “ if 


THE SILENT BARRIER 


ever you come to Colorado I shall hail you as a real 
cousin ! ” 

Then a silence fell between them. Bower was 
walking out of the hotel. He passed close in front 
of the glass partition, and might have seen them 
"iif his eyes were not as preoccupied as his mind. But 
/ he was looking at Stampa, and frowning in deep 
thought. The guide heard, his slow, heavy tread, and 
turned. The two met. They exchanged no word, 
but went away together, the lame peasant hobbling 
along by the side of the tall, well dressed plutocrat. 

“ How odd ! ” said Mrs. de la Vere. How ex- 
ceedingly odd!.” 



CHAPTER XIII 


THE COMPACT 

“ Now, what have you to say? We are safe from 
meddlers here.” 

Bower spoke curtly. Stampa and he were half- 
way across the narrow strip of undulating meadow 
land which shut off the hotel from the village. They 
had followed the footpath, a busy thoroughfare 
bombarded with golf balls on fine mornings, but 
likely to be unfrequented till the snow melted. Re- 
ceiving no answer. Bower glanced sharply at his 
companion; but the old guide might be unaware of 
his presence, so steadily did he trudge onward, with 
downcast, introspective eyes. Resolved to make an 
end of a silence that was irksome. Bower halted. 

Then, for the first time, Stampa opened his lips. 
“ Not here,” he said. 

“Why not? We are alone.” 

“ You must come with me, Herr Baron.” 

25S 


THE SILENT BARRIER 


“ That is not my title.” 

It used to be. It will serve as well as any other.” 
I refuse to stir a yard farther.” / 

Then,” said Stampa, “ I will kill you where you 
stand ! ” 

Neither in voice nor feature did he exhibit any 
emotion. He merely put forward an all-sufficing 
reason, and left it at that. 

Bower was no coward. Though the curiously 
repressed manner of the threat sent a wave of blood 
from his face to his heart, he strode suddenly nearer. 
Ready and eager to grapple with his adversary be- 
fore a weapon could be drawn, he peered into the 
peasant’s care lined face. 

“So that is your plan, is it.?” he said thickly. 
“ You would entice me to some lonely place, where 
you can shoot or stab me at your own good pleasure. 
Fool! I can overpower you instantly, and have you 
sent to a jail or a lunatic asylum for the rest of 
your life.” 

“ I carry no knife, nor can I use a pistol, Herr 
Baron,” was the unruffled answer. “ I do not need 
them. My hands are enough. You are a man, a 
big, strong man, with all a man’s worst passions. 
Have you never felt that you could tear your enemy 
with your nails, choke him till the bones of his neck 
crackled, and his tongue lolled out like a panting 
dog’s.? That is how I too may feel if you deny 
my request. And I will kill you, Marcus Bauer! 
As sure as God is in Heaven, I will kill you ! ” 


THE COMPACT 


Fear now lent its blind fury to the instinct of 
self preservation. Bower leaped at Stampa, deter- 
mined to master him at the first onslaught. But he 
was heavy and slow, inert after long years of 
physical indolence. The older man, awkward only 
because of his crippled leg, swung himself clear of 
Bower’s grip, and sprang out of reach. 

‘‘ If there be any who look, ’tis you who risk im- 
prisonment,” he said calmly, with a touch of humor 
that assuredly he did not intend. 

Bower knew then how greatly he had erred. It 
was a mistake ever to have agreed to meet Stampa 
alone — a much greater one not to have waited to be 
attacked. As Stampa said truly, if anyone in the 
village had seen his mad action, there would be testi- 
mony that he was the aggressor. He frowned at 
Stampa in a bull-like rage, glowering at him in a 
frenzy of impotence. This dour old man opposed 
a grim barrier to his hopes. It was intolerable that 
he, Mark Bower the millionaire, a man who held 
within his grasp all that the material world has to 
give, should be standing there at the mercy of a 
Swiss Pleasant. Throughout the dreary vigil of 
the night he had pondered this thing, and could 
find no loophole of escape. The record of that ac- 
cursed summer sixteen years ago was long since 
obliterated in the history of Marcus Bauer, the 
emotional youth who made love to a village belle in 
Zermatt, and posed as an Austrian baron among the 
English and Italians who at that time formed the 
255 


THE SILENT BARRIER 


select band of climbers in the Valais. But the short- 
lived romance was dead and buried, and its memory 
brought the taste of Dead Sea ashes to the mouth. 

Marcus Bauer had become a naturalized English- 
man. The mock barony was replaced by a wealth 
that might buy real titles. But the crime still lived, 
and woe to Mark Bower, the financial magnate, if 
it was brought home to him ! He had not risen above 
his fellows without making enemies. He well knew 
the weakness and the strength of the British social 
system, with its strange complacency, its “ allow- 
ances,” its hysterical prudery, its queer amalgam 
of Puritanism and light hearted forbearance. He 
might gamble with loaded dice in the City, and people 
would applaud him as cleverer and shrewder than his 
opponents. His name might be coupled with that 
of a pretty actress, and people would only smile 
knowingly. But let a hint of his betrayal of Etta 
Stampa and its attendant circumstances reach the 
ears of those who hated him, and he would sink forth- 
with into the slough of rich parvenus who eke out 
their lives in vain efforts to enter the closely guarded 
circle from which he had been expelled. 

If that was the only danger, he might meet and 
vanquish it. The unscrupulous use of money, backed 
up by the law of libel, can do a great deal to still 
the public conscience. There was another, more 
subtle and heart searching. 

He was genuinely in love with Helen Wynton. He 
had reached an age when position and power were 
256 


THE COMPACT 


more gratifying than mere gilded Bohemianism. He 
could enter Parliament either by way of Palace Yard 
or through the portals of the Upper House. He 
owned estates in Scotland and the home counties, 
and his Park Lane mansion figured already in the 
address books of half the peerage. It pleased him 
to think that in placing a charming and gracious 
woman like Helen at the head of his household, she 
would look to him as the lodestar of her existence, 
and not tolerate him with the well-bred hauteur of 
one of the many aristocratic young women who were 
ready enough to marry him, but who, in their heart 
of hearts, despised him. He had deliberately avoided 
that sort of matrimonial blunder. It promised more 
than it fulfilled. He refused to wed a woman who 
deemed her social rank dearly bartered for his money. 

Yet, before ever the question arose, he knew quite 
well that this girl whom he had chosen — the poorly 
paid secretary of some harmless enthusiast, the 
strangely selected correspondent of an insignificant 
journal — would spurn him with scorn if she heard 
the story Stampa might tell of his lost daughter. 
That was the wildest absurdity in the mad jumble 
of events which brought him here face to face with a 
broken and frayed old man, — one whom he had never 
seen before the previous day. It was of a piece with 
this fantasy that he should be standing ankle deep 
in snow under the brilliant sun of August, and in 
risk, if not in fear, of his life within two huncired 
yards of a crowded hotel and a placid Swiss village. 
257 


THE SILENT BARRIER 


His usually well ordered brain rebelled against 
these manifest incongruities. His passion subsided 
almost as quickly as it had arisen. He moistened 
his cold lips with his tongue, and the action seemed 
to restore his power of speech. 

“ I suppose you have some motive in bringing me 
here. What is it.?” he said. 

“ You must come to the cemetery. It is not far.” 

This unlooked for reply struck a new note. It 
had such a bizarre effect that Bower actually 
laughed. “ Then you really are mad.? ” he guffawed 
harshly. 

“ No, not at all. I was on the verge of madness 
the other day ; but I was pulled back in time, thanks 
to the Madonna, else I might never have met you.” 

“ Do you expect me to walk quietly to the burial 
ground in order that I may be slaughtered con- 
veniently .? ” 

“ I am not going to kill you, Marcus Bauer,” 
said Stampa. “ I trust the good God will enable 
me to keep my hands off you. He will punish you 
in His own good time. You are safe from me.” 

“ A moment ago you spoke differently.” 

“ Ah, that was because you refused to come with 
me. Assuredly I shall bring either you or your 
lying tongue to Etta’s grave this morning. But 
you will come now. You are afraid, Herr Baron. 
I see it in your eyes, and you value that well-fed 
body of yours too highly not to do as I demand. 
Believe me, within the next few minutes you shall 
S58 


THE COMPACT 


either kneel by my little girl’s grave or tumble intc* 
your own.” 

I am not afraid, Stampa. I warn you again 
that I am more than a match for you. Yet I would 
willingly make any reparation within my power for 
the wrong I have done you.” 

“ Yes, yes — that is all I ask — reparation, such 
as it is. Not to me — to Etta. Come then. I have 
no weapon, I repeat. You trust to your size and 
strength; so, by your own showing, you are safe. 
But you must come ! ” 

A gleam of confidence crept into Bower’s eyes. 
Was it not wise to humor this old madman.^ Per- 
haps, by displaying a remorse that was not all act- 
ing, he might arrange a truce, secure a breathing 
space. He would be free to deal with Millicent 
Jaques. He might so contrive matters that Helen 
should be far removed from Stampa’s dangerous 
presence before the threatened disclosure was made. 
Yes, a wary prudence in speech and action might 
accomplish much. Surely he dared match his brain 
against a peasant’s. 

“ Very well,” he said, “ I shall accompany you. 
But remember, at the least sign of violence, I shall 
not only defend myself, but drag you off to the 
communal guardhouse.” 

Without any answer, Stampa resumed his steady 
plodding through the snow. Bower followed, some- 
what in the rear. He glanced sharply back toward 
the hotel. So far as he could judge, no one had 
S59 


THE SILENT BARRIER 


witnessed that frantic spring at his tormentor. At 
that hour, nearly every resident would be on the 
sunlit veranda. He wondered whether or not Helen 
and Millicent had met again. He wished now he 
had interviewed Millicent last night. Her problem 
was simple enough, — a mere question of terms. Spite 
had carried her boldly through the scene in the * 
foyer; but she was far too sensible a young woman 
to persist in a hopeless quarrel. 

It was one of the fatalities that dogged his foot- 
steps ever since he came to Maloja that the only 
person watching him at the moment should happen 
to be Millicent herself. Her room was situated at 
the back of the hotel, and she had fallen asleep 
after many hours of restless thought. When the 
clang of a bell woke her with a start she found that 
the morning was far advanced. She dressed hur- 
riedly, rather in a panic lest her quarry might have 
evaded her by an early flight. The fine panorama 
of the Italian Alps naturally attracted her eyes. 
She was staring at it idly, when she saw Bower and 
Stampa crossing the open space in front of her 
bed room window. 

Stampa, of course, was unknown to her. In some 
indefinable way his presence chimed with her fear 
that Bower would leave Maloja forthwith. Did he 
intend to post through the Vale of Bregaglia to 
Chiavenna? Then, indeed, she might be called on 
to overcome unforeseen difficulties. She appreciated 
his character to the point of believing that Helen 
S60 


THE COMPACT 


was his dupe. She regretted now that she was so 
foolish as to attack her one-time friend openly. Far 
better have asked Helen to visit her privately, and 
endeavor to find out exactly how the land lay before 
she encountered Bower. At any rate, she ought to 
learn without delay whether or not he was hiring 
post horses in the village. If so, he was unwilling 
to meet her, and the battle royal must take place in 
London. 

A maid entered with coffee and rolls. 

“ Who is that man with the English monsieur ? ” 
inquired Millicent, pointing to the two. 

The servant was a St. Moritz girl, and a glance 
sufficed. “ That.? He is Christian Stampa, madam. 
He used to drive one of Joos’s carriages ; but he had 
a misfortune. He nearly killed a lady whom he was 
bringing to the hotel, and was dismissed in conse- 
quence. Now he is guide to an American gentleman. 
My God ! but they are droll, the Americans ! ” 

The maid laughed, and created a clatter with basin 
and hot water can. Millicent, forcing herself to eat 
quickly, continued to gaze after the pair. The 
description of Stampa’s employer interested her. 
His drollery evidently consisted in hiring a cripple 
as guide. 

‘‘ Is the American monsieur named Charles K. 
Spencer.?” she said, speaking very clearly. 

“ I do not know, madam. But Marie, who is on 
the second, can tell me. Shall I ask.?” 

“ Do, please.” 


^61 


THE SILENT BARRIER , 


Leontine bustled out. Just then Millicent was 
amazed by Bower’s extraordinary leap at Stampa 
and the guide’s agile avoidance of his would-be 
assailant. The men faced each other as though a 
fight was imminent; but the upshot w-as that they 
walked on together quietly. Be sure that two keen ^ 
blue eyes watched their every motion thenceforth, 
never leaving them till they entered the village street 
and disappeared behind a large chalet. 

“And what did it all mean.? Mark Bower — 
scuffling with a villager ! ” 

Millicent’s smooth forehead wrinkled in earnest 
thought. How queer it would be if Bower was 
trying to force Spencer’s guide into the commis- 
sion of a crime ! He would stop at nothing. He 
believed he could bend all men, and all women too, 
to his will. Was he angered by unexpected resist- 
ance.? She hoped the maid would hurry with her 
news. Though she meant to go at once to the vil- 
lage, it would be a point gained if she was certain 
of Stampa’s identity. 

She was already veiled and befurred when Leontine 
returned. Yes, Marie had given her full informa- 
tion. Madam had heard, perhaps, how Herr Bower 
and the pretty English mademoiselle were in danger 
of being snowed up in the Forno hut yesterday. 
Well, Stampa had gone with his voyageur. Monsieur 
Spensare, to their rescue. And the young lady was 
the one whom Stampa had endangered during his 
career as a cab driver. Again, it was droll. 

262 


THE COMPACT 


Millicent agreed. For the second time, she re- 
solved to postpone her journey to St. Moritz. 


Bower was surprised when Stampa led him into 
the main road. Having never seen any sign of a 
cemetery at Maloja, he guessed vaguely that it 
must be situated close to the church. Therein, in 
a sense, he was right. It will be remembered how 
Helen’s solitary ramble on the morning after her 
arrival in Maloja brought her to the secluded grave- 
yard. She first visited the little Swiss tabernacle 
which had attracted her curiosity, and thence took 
the priest’s path to the last resting place of his 
flock. But Stampa had a purpose in following a 
circuitous route. He turned sharply round the base 
of a huge pile of logs, stacked there in readiness 
for the fires of a long winter. 

‘‘ Look ! ” he said, throwing open the half door 
of a cattle shed behind the timber. “ They found 
her here on the second of August, a Sunday morn- 
ing, just before the people went to early mass. By 
her side was a bottle labeled ‘ Poison.’ She bought 
it in Zermatt on the sixth of July. So, you see, 
my little girl had been thinking a whole month of 
killing herself. Poor child ! What a month ! They 
tell me, Herr Baron, you left Zermatt on the sixth 
of July.? ” 

Bower’s face had grown cold and gray while the 
old man was speaking. He began to understand. 
Stampa would spare him none of the horror of the 


263 


THE SILENT BARRIER 

tragedy from which he fled like a lost soul when the 
news of it reached the hotel. Well, he would not 
draw back now. If Stampa and he were destined 
to have a settlement, why defer it.? This was his 
day of reckoning, — of atonement, he hoped, — and 
he would not shirk the ordeal, though his flesh quiv- 
ered and his humbled pride lashed him like a whip. 

The squalid stable was peculiarly offensive. Ow- 
ing to the gale, the cattle that ought to be pastur- 
ing in the high alp were crowded there in reeking 
filth. Yesterday, not long before this hour, he was 
humming verses of cow songs to Helen, and beguil- 
ing the way to the Forno with a recital of the 
customs and idyls of the hills. What a spiteful thing 
was Fate! Why had this doting peasant risen from 
the dead to drag him through the mire of a past 
transgression.? If Stampa betrayed anger, if his 
eyes and voice showed the scorn and hatred of a 
man justly incensed because of his daughter’s un- 
timely death, the situation would be more tolerable. 
But his words were mild, biting only by reason of 
their simple pathos. He spoke in a detached man- 
ner. He might be relating the unhappy story of 
some village maid of whom he had no personal knowl- 
edge. This complete self effacement grated on 
Bower’s nerves. It almost spurred him again to 
ungovernable rage. But he realized the paramount 
need of self control. He clenched his teeth in the 
effort to bear his punishment without protest. 

And Stampa seemed to have the gift of divina- 

264 } 


THE COMPACT 


tion. He read Bower’s heart. By some means he 
became aware that the unsavory shed was loathsome 
to the fine gentleman standing beside him. 

“ Etta was always so neat in her dress that it 
must have been a dreadful thing to see her laid 
there,” he went on. “ She fell just inside the door. ' 
Before she drank the poison she must have looked 
once at the top of old Corvatsch. She thought of 
me, I am sure, for she had my letter in her pocket 
telling her that I was at Pontresina with my voy- 
ageurs. And she would think of you too, — her lover, 
her promised husband.” 

Bower cleared his throat. He tried to frame a de- 
nial ; but Stampa waved the unspoken thought aside. 

“ Surely you told her you would marry her, Herr 
Baron he said gently. ‘‘Was it not to implore 
you to keep your vow that she journeyed all the 
way from Zermatt to the Maloja.^ She was but 
a child, an innocent and frightened child, and you 
should not have been so brutal when she came to 
you in the hotel. Ah, well! It is all ended and 
done with now. It is said the Madonna gives her 
most powerful aid to young girls who seek from 
her Son the mercy they were denied on earth. And 
my Etta has been dead sixteen long years, — long 
enough for her sin to be cleansed by the fire of Pur- 
gatory. Perhaps to-day, when justice is done to 
her at last, she may be admitted to Paradise. Who 
can tell.? I would ask the priest; but he would bid 
me not question the ways of Providence.” 

" 265 


THE SILENT BARRIER 


At last Bower found his voice. “ Etta is at 
peace,” he^ muttered. “ We have suffered for our 
folly — both of us. I — I could not marry her. It 
was impossible.” 

Stampa did look at him then, — such a look as the 
old Roman may have cast on the man who caused 
him to slay his loved daughter. Yet, when he spoke, 
his words were measured, almost reverent. Not im- 
possible, Marcus Bower. Nothing is impossible to 
God, and He ordained that you should marry my 
Etta.” 

“ I tell you ” began Bower huskily ; but the 

■other silenced him with a gesture. 

“ They took her to the inn, — they are kind people 
who live there, — and someone telegraphed to me. 
The news went to Zermatt, and back to Pontresina. 
I was high up in the Bernina with my party. But 
a friend found me, and I ran like a madman over 
ice and rock in the foolish belief that if only I held 
my little girl in my arms I should kiss her back to 
life again. I took the line of a bird. If I had 
crossed the Muretto, I should not be lame to-day ; 
but I took Corvatsch in my path, and I fell, and 
when I saw Etta’s grave the grass was growing on 
it. Come 1 The turf is sixteen years old now.” 

Breaking off thus abruptly, he swung away into 
the open pasture. Bower, heavy with wrath and 
care, strode close behind. He strove to keep his 
brain Intent on the one issue, — to placate this sorrow- 
ing old man, to persuade him that silence was best. 

266 


THE COMPACT 


Soon they reached a path that curved upward 
among stunted trees. It ended at an iron gate in 
the center of a low wall. Bower shuddered. This, 
then, was the cemetery. He had never noticed it, 
though in former years he could have drawn a map 
of the Maloja from memory, so familiar was he with 
every twist and turn of mountain, valley, and lake. 
The sun was hot on that small, pine sheltered hillock. 
The snow was beginning to melt. It clogged their 
feet, and left green patches where their footprints 
would have been clearly marked an hour earlier. And 
they were not the only visitors that day. There 
were signs of one who had climbed the hill since the 
snow ceased falling. 

Inside the wall the white covering lay deep. 
Bower’s prominent eyes, searching everywhere with 
furtive horror, saw that a little space had been 
cleared in one corner. The piled up snow was 
strewed with broken weeds and tufts of long grass. 
It bore an uncanny resemblance to the edges of a 
grave. He paused, irresolute, unnerved, yet des- 
perately determined to fall in with Stampa’s strange 
mood. 

“ There is nothing to fear,” said the old man 
gently. ‘‘ They brought her here. You are not 
afraid — you, who clasped her to your breast, and 
swore you loved her.^^ ” 

Bower’s face, deathly pale before, flamed into 
sudden life. The strain was unbearable. He could 
feel his own hear<: beating violently. What do 
267 


THE SILENT BARRIER 


you want me to do ? ” he almost shouted. “ She is 
dead! My repentance is of no avail! Why are you 
torturing me in this manner.? ” 

‘‘ Softly, son-in-law, softly ! You are disturbed, 
or you would see the hand of Providence in our 
I meeting. What could be better arranged.? You 
have returned after all these years. It is not too 
late. To-day you shall marry Etta ! ” 

Bower’s neck was purple above the line of his 
white collar. The veins stood out on his temples. 
He looked like one in the throes of apoplexy. 

For Heaven’s sake ! what do you mean .? ” 
panted. 

“ I mean just what I say. This is your wedding 
day. Your bride lies there, waiting. Never did 
woman wait for her man so still and patient.” 

“ Come away, Stampa ! This thing must be dealt 
with reasonably. Come away! Let us find som»« 

less mournful place, and I shall tell you ” 

“ Nay, even yet you do not understand. Well, 
then, Marcus Bauer, hear me while you may. I 
swear you shall marry my girl, if I have to recite 
the wedding prayers over your dead body. I have 
petitioned the Madonna to spare me from becoming 
a murderer, and I give you this last chance of saving 
your dirty life. Kneel there, by the side of the 
grave, and attend to the words that I shall read to 
you, or you must surely die! You came to Zermatt 
and chose my Etta. Very well, if it be God’s will 
that she should be the wife of a scoundrel like you, 
268 


THE COMPACT 


it is not for me to resist. Marry her you shall, here 
and now ! I will bind you to her henceforth and for 
all eternity, and the time will come when her inter- 
cession may drag you back from the hell your cruel 
deed deserves.” 

With a mighty effort. Bower regained the self-con - 
ceit that Stampa’s words, no less than the depress- 
ing environment, had shocked out of him. The 
grotesque nature of the proposal was a tonic in 
itself. 

“ If I had expected any such folly on your part, 
I should not have come with you,” he said, speaking 
with something of his habitual dignity. “ Your sug- 
gestion is monstrous. How can I marry a dead 
woman ? ” 

Stampa’s expression changed instantly. Its meek 
sorrow yielded to a ferocity that was appalling. 
Already bent, he crouched like a wild beast gathering 
itself for an attack. 

“Do you refuse.?” he asked, in a low note of 
intense passion. 

“Yes, curse you! And mutter your prayers in 
your own behalf. You need them more than I.” 

Bower planted himself firmly, right in the gate- 
way. He clenched his fists, and savagely resolved 
to batter this lunatic’s face into a pulp. He had a 
notion that Stampa would rush straight at him, 
and give him an opportunity to strike from the 
shoulder, hard and true. He was bitterly unde- 
ceived. The man who was nearly twenty years his 
269 


THE SILENT BARRIER 


senior jumped from the top of a low monument on 
to the flat coping stones of the wall. F^om that 
greater height he leaped down on Bower, who struck 
out wildly, but without a tithe of the force needed 
to stop the impact of a heavily built adversary. He 
had to change feet too, and he was borne to the earth 
by that catamount spring before he could avoid it. 
For a few seconds the two writhed in the snow in 
deadly embrace. Then Stampa remained upper- 
most. He had pinned Bower to the ground face 
downward. Kneeling on his shoulders, with the left 
hand gripping his neck and the right clutching his 
hair and scalp, he pulled back the wretched man’s 
head till it was a miracle that the spinal column was 
not broken. 

“ Now ! ” he growled, “ are you content.? ” 

There was no reply. It was a physical impossi- 
bility that Bower should speak. Even in his tempest 
of rage Stampa realized this, and loosened his grip 
sufficiently to give his opponent a moment of 
precious breath. 

“ Answer ! ” he muttered again. ‘‘ Promise you 
will obey, you brute, or I crack your neck ! ” 

Bower gurgled something that sounded like an 
appeal for mercy. Stampa rose at once, but took 
^ the precaution to close the gate, since they had 
rolled into the cemetery during their short fight. 

“ Saperlotte! ” he cried, “ you are not the first 
who deemed me helpless because of my crooked leg. 
You might have run from me, Marcus Bauer; you 
270 


THE COMPACT 


could never fight me. Were I at death’s door, I 
would still have strength left to throttle you if once 
my fingers closed round your throat.” 

Bower raised himself on hands and knees. He cut 
an abject figure; but he was beyond all thought of 
appearances. For one dread moment his life had 
trembled in the balance. That glimpse of death 
and of the gloomy path beyond was affrighting. He 
would do anything now to gain time. Wealth, fame^ 
love itself, what were they, each and all, when viewed 
from the threshold of that barrier which admits a 
man once and for ever.? 

In deep, laboring gasps his breath came back. 
The blood coursed freely again in his veins. He 
lived — ah, that was everything — he still lived! He 
scrambled to his feet, bare headed, yellow skinned, 
dazed, and trembling. His eyes dwelt on Stampa 
with a new timidity. He found difficulty in straight- 
ening his limbs. He was quite iiisensible of his ridicu- 
lous aspect. His clothing, even his hair, was matted 
with soft snow. In a curiously servile way, he 
stooped to pick up his cap. 

Stampa lurched toward the tiny patch of grass 
from which he had cleared the snow soon after day- 
break. “ Kneel here at her feet I ” he said. 

Bower approached, with a slow, dragging move- 
ment. Without a word of protest, he sank to his 
knees. The snow in his hair began to melt. He 
passed his hands over his face as though shutting 
out some horrific vision. 


271 


THE SILENT BARRIER 


Stampa produced from his pocket a frayed and 
tattered prayer book — an Italian edition of the 
Paroissien Romain. He opened it at a marked page, 
and began to read the marriage ritual. Though 
the- words were Latin, and he was no better educated 
than any other peasant in the district, he pro- 
nounced the sonorous phrases with extraorcjinary 
accuracy. Of course, he was an Italian, and Latin 
was not such an incomprehensible tongue to him as 
it would prove to a German or Englishman of his 
class. Moreover, the liturgy of the Church of Rome 
is familiar to its people, no matter what their race. 
Bower, stupefied and benumbed, though the sun was 
shining brilliantly, and a constant dripping from the 
pine branches gave proof of a rapid thaw, listened 
like one in a trance. He understood scattered sen- 
tences, brokenly, yet with sufficient comprehension. 

“ Confiteor Deo omnipot enti,^^ mumbled Stampa, 
and the bridegroom in this strange rite knew that 
he w'as making the profession of a faith he did not 
share. His mind cleared by degrees. He was still 
under the spell of bodily fear, but his brain tri- 
umphed over physical stress, and bade him disre- 
gard these worn out shibboleths. Nevertheless, the 
words had a tremendous significance. 

“ Pater noster qui es in ceelisy sanctificetur nomen 
tuum . . . dimitt e nobis dehita nostra sicut et nos 
dimittimus dehitoribus nostris. ...” 

It was quite easy to follow their geijeral drift. 
Anyone who had ever recited the Lord’s Prayer in 
272 


THE COMPACT 


anj language would realize that he was asking the 
Deity to forgive him his trespasses as he forgave 
those who trespassed against him. And there came 
to the kneeling man a thrilling consciousness that 
Stampa was appealing for him in the name of the 
dead girl, the once blushing and timid maid whose 
bones were crumbling into dust beneath that cover- 
let of earth and herbage. There could be no doubt- 
ing the grim earnestness of the reader. It mat- 
tered not a jot to Stampa that he was usurping the 
functions of the Church in an outlandish travesty of 
her ritual. He was sustained by a fixed belief that 
the daughter so. heartlessly reft from him was pres- 
ent in spirit, nay, more, that she was profoundly 
grateful for this belated sanctifying of an unhal- 
lowed love. Bower’s feelings or convictions were not 
of the slightest consequence. He owed it to Etta 
to make reparation, and the duty must be fulfilled 
to the utmost letter. 

Strong man as he was. Bower nearly fainted. He 
scarce had the faculty of speech when Stampa bade 
him make the necessary responses in Italian. But 
he obeyed. All the time the devilish conviction grew 
that if he persisted in this flummery he might emerge 
scatheless from a ghastly ordeal. The punishment 
of publicity was the one thing he dreaded, and that 
might be avoided — for Etta’s sake. So he obeyed, 
with cunning pretense of grief, trying to veil the 
malevolence in his heart. 

At last, when the solemn “ per omnia secula 
27S 


THE SILENT BARRIER 


seculorum ” and a peaceful “ Amen ” announced the 
close of this amazing marriage service, Stampa 
looked fixedly at his supposed son-in-law. 

“ Now, Marcus Bauer,” he said, “ I have done 
with you. See to it that you do not again break 
your plighted vows to my daughter! She is your 
wife. You are her husband. Not even death can 
divide you. Go ! ” 

His strong, splendidly molded face, massive and 
dignified, cast in lines that would have appealed to 
a sculptor who wished to limn the features of a 
patriarch of old, wore an aspect of settled calm. He 
was at peace with all the world. He had forgiven 
his enemy. 

Bower rose again stiffly. He would have spoken; 
but Stampa now fell on his knees and began to pray 
silently. So the millionaire, humbled again and ter- 
ror stricken by the sinister significance of those con- 
cluding words, yet not daring to question them, 
crept out of the place of the dead. As he stag- 
gered down the hillside he looked back once. He had 
eyes only for the little iron gate, but Stampa came 
not. 

Then he essayed to brush some of the clinging 
snow off his clothes. He shook himself like a dog 
after a plunge into water. In the distance he saw 
the hotel, with its promise of luxury and forget- 
fulness. And he cursed Stampa with a bitter fury 
of emphasis, trying vainly to persuade himself that 
he had been the victim of a maniac’s delusion. 

274 


/ 



CHAPTER XIV 

WHEREIN MILEICENT ARMS FOR THE FRAY 

Millicent was wondering how she would fare in 
the deep snow in boots that were never built for 
such a test. She was standing on the swept road- 
way between the hotel and the stables, and the tracks 
of her quarry were plainly visible. But the hope of 
discovering some explanation of Bower’s queer be- 
havior was more powerful than her dread of wet 
feet. She was gathering her skirts daintily before 
taking the next step, when the two men suddenly 
reappeared. 

They had left the village and were crossing the 
j line of the path. Shrinking back under cover of 
an empty wagon, she watched them. Apparently 
they were heading for the Orlegna Gorge, and she 
scanned the ground eagerly to learn how she could 
manage to spy on them without being seen almost 
immediately. Then she fell into the same error as 
£75 


THE SILENT BARRIER 


Helen in believing that the winding carriage road 
to the church offered the nearest way to the clump 
of firs and azaleas by which Bower and Stampa 
would soon be hidden. 

Three minutes’ sharp walking brought her to the 
church, but there the highway turned abruptly to- 
ward the village. As one side of the small ravine 
faced south, the sun’s rays were beginning to have 
effect, and a narrow track, seemingly leading to the 
hill, was almost laid bare. In any event, it must 
bring her near the point where the men vanished, so 
she went on breathlessly. Crossing the rivulet, al- 
ready swollen with melting snow, she mounted the 
steps cut in the hillside. It was heavy going in that 
thin air; but she held to it determinedly. 

Then she heard men’s voices raised in anger. She 
.recognized one. Bower was speaking German, 
Stampa a mixture of German and Italian. Milli- 
cent had a vague acquaintance with both languages ; 
but it was of the Ollendorf order, and did not avail 
her in understanding their rapid, excited words. 
Soon there were other sounds, the animal cries, the 
sobs, the labored grunts of men engaged in deadly 
struggle. Thoroughly alarmed, more willing to re- 
treat than advance, she still clambered on, impelled 
by irresistible desire to find out what strange thing 
was happening. 

At last, partly concealed by a dwarf fir, she could 
peer over a wall into the tiny cemetery. She was 
too late to witness the actual fight; but she saw 
276 


MILLICENT ARMS FOR THE FRAY 


Stampa spring upright, leaving his prostrate oppo- 
nent apparently lifeless. She was utterly fright- 
ened. Fear rendered her mute. To her startled eyes 
it seemed that Bower had been killed by the crippled 
man. Soon that quite natural impression yielded 
to one of sustained astonishment. Bower rose 
slowly, a sorry spectacle. To her woman’s mind, 
unfamiliar with scenes of violence, it was surprising 
that he did not begin at once to beat the life out of 
the lame old peasant who had attacked him so 
viciously. When Stampa closed the gate and mo- 
tioned Bower to kneel, when the tall, powerfully 
built man knelt without protest, when the reading 
of the Latin service began, — well, Millicent could 
never afterward find words to express her conflicting 
emotions. 

But she did not move. Crouching behind her pro- 
tecting tree, guarding her very breath lest some 
involuntary cry should betray her presence, she 
watched the whole of the weird ceremonial. She 
racked her brains to guess its meaning, strained her 
ears to catch a sentence that might be identified 
hereafter ; but she failed in both respects. Of 
course, it was evident that someone was buried 
there, someone whose memory the wild looking vil- 
lager held dear, someone whose grave he had forced 
Bower to visit, someone for whose sake he was ready 
to murder Bower if the occasion demanded. So 
much was clear; but the rest was blurred, a medley 
of incoherences, a waking nightmare. 

277 , 


THE SILENT BARRIER 


Oddly enough, it never occurred to her that a 
woman might be lying in that dreary tenement. Her 
first vague imagining suggested that Bower had 
committed a crime, killed a man, and that an avenger 
had dragged him to his victim’s last resting place. 
That Stampa was laboriously plodding through the , 
marriage ritual was a fantastic conceit of which she 
received no hint. There was nothing to dissolve the 
mist in her mind. She could only wait, and marvel. 

As the strange scene drew to its close, she be- 
came calmer. She reflected that some sort of regis- 
try would be kept of the graves. A few dismal 
monuments, and two rows of little black wooden 
crosses that stuck up mournfully out of the snow, 
gave proof positive of that. She counted the 
crosses. Stampa was standing near the seventh from 
a tomb easily recognizable at some future time. 
Bower faced it on his knees. She could not see him 
distinctly, as he was hidden by the other man’s broad 
shoulders ; but she did not regret it, because the warm 
brown tints of her furs against the background of 
snow and foliage might warn him of her presence. 
She thanked the kindly stars that brought her here. 
No matter what turn events took now, she hoped to 
hold the whip hand over Bower. There was a mys- 
tery to be cleared, of course ; but with such materials 
she could hardly fail to discover its true bearings. 

So she watched, in tremulous patience, quick to 
note each movement of the actors in a drama the like 
to which she had never seen on the stage. 

278 


MILLICENT ARMS FOR THE FRAY 


At last Bower slunk away. She heard the crunch- 
ing of his feet on the snow, and, when Stampa ceased 
his silent prayer, she expected that he would depart 
by the same path. To her overwhelming dismay, he 
wheeled round and looked straight at her. In re- 
ality his eyes were fixed on the hills behind her. He 
was thinking of his unhappy daughter. The giant 
mass of Corvatsch was associated in his mind with 
the girl’s last glimpse of her beloved Switzerland, 
while on that same memorable day it threw its deep 
shadow over his own life. He turned to the moun- 
tain to seek its testimony, — as it were, to the con- 
summation of a tragedy. 

But Millicent could not know that. Losing all 
command of herself, she shrieked in terror, and ran 
wildly among the trees. She stumbled and fell be- 
fore she had gone five yards over the rough ground. 
Quite in a panic, confused and blinded with snow, 
she rose and ran again, only to find herself speeding 
back to the burial ground. Then, in a very agony 
of distress, she stood still. Stampa was looking at 
her, with mild surprise displayed in every line of 
his expressive features. 

“ What are you afraid of, signorina? ” he asked 
in Italian. 

She half understood, but her tongue clove to the 
roof of her mouth. Her terror was manifest, and 
he pitied her. 

He repeated his question in German. A child 
might have recognized that this man of the be- 

279 ' 


THE SILENT BARRIER 


nignant face and kindly, sorrow laden eyes intended 
no evil. 

“ I am sorry. I beg your pardon, Herr Stampa,’^ 
she managed to stammer. 

“Ah, you know me, then, signorina! But every- , 
body knows old Stampa. Have you lost your' 
way.'^ ” 

“ I was taking a little walk, and happened to 
approach the cemetery. I saw ” 

“ There is nothing to interest you here, madam, 
and still less to cause fear. But it is a sad place, 
at the best. Follow that path. It will lead you to 
the village or the hotel.” 

Her fright was subsiding rapidly. She deemed 
the opportunity too good to be lost. If she could 
win his confidence, what an immense advantage it 
would be in her struggle against Bower! Summon- 
ing all her energies, and trying to remember some 
of the German sentences learned in her school days, 
she smiled wistfully. 

“ You are in great trouble,” she murmured. “ I 
suppose Herr Bower has injured you.^ ” 

Stampa glanced at her keenly. He had the ex- 
perience of sixty years of a busy life to help him 
in summing up those with whom he came in contact, 
and this beautiful, richly dressed woman did not ap- 
peal to his simple nature as did Helen when she 
surprised his grief on a morning not so long ago. 
Moreover, the elegant stranger was little better than 
a spy, for none but a spy would have wandered among 
280 


■j 


MILLICENT ARMS FOR THE FRAY 


the rocks and shrubs in such weather, and he was in 
no mood to suffer her inquiries. 

“ I am in no trouble,” he said, “ and Herr Bauer 
has not injured me.” 

“ But you fought,” she persisted. “ I thought 
you had killed him. I almost wish you had. I hate 
him ! ” 

“ It is a bad thing to hate anyone. I am three 
times your age; so you may, or may not, regard 
my advice as excellent. Come round by the corner 
of the wall, and you will reach the path with- 
out walking in the deep snow. Good morning, 
madam.” 

He bowed with an ease that would have proclaimed 
his nationality if he had not been an Italian moun- 
taineer in every poise and gesture. Stooping to re- 
cover his Alpine hat, which was lying near the cross 
at the head of the grave, he passed out through the 
gate before Millicent was clear of the wall. He made 
off with long, uneven, but rapid strides, leaving her 
hot with annoyance that a mere peasant should treat 
her so cavalierly. Though she did not understand 
all he said, she grasped its purport. But her sore- 
ness soon passed. The great fact remained that she 
shared some secret with him and Bower, a secret of 
an importance she could not yet measure. She was 
tempted to go inside the cemetery, and might have 
yielded to the impulse had not a load of snow sud- 
denly tumbled off the broad fronds of a pine. The 
incident set her heart beating furiously again. How 
^81 


THE SILENT BARRIER 


lonely was this remote hilltop! Even the glorious 
sunshine did not relieve its brooding silence. 

Thus it came about that these three people went 
down into the valley, each within a short distance 
of the others, and Spencer saw them all from the 
high road, where he was questioning an official of the 
federal postoffice as to the method of booking seats 
in the banquette of the diligence from Vicosoprano^ 

That he was bewildered by the procession goes 
without saying. Where had they been, and how in 
the name of wonder could the woman’s presence be 
accounted for.? The polite postmaster must have 
thought that the Englishman was very dense that 
morning. Several times he explained fully that the 
two desired seats in the diligence must be reserved 
from Chiavenna. As many times did Spencer repeat 
the information without in the least seeming to com- 
prehend it. He spoke with the detached air of a 
boy in the first form reciting the fifth proposition 
in Euclid. At last the postmaster gave it up in 
despair. 

“You see that man there.?” he said to a keenly 
interested policeman when Spencer strolled away in 
the direction of the village. “ He is of the most ^ 
peculiar. He talks German like a parrot. He must 
be a rich American. Perhaps he wants to buy a 
diligence.” 

“ Wer weiss? ” said the other. “ Money makes 
some folk mad.” 

And, indeed, through Spencer’s brain was running 

282 


MILLICENT ARMS FOR THE FRAY 


a Bedlamite jingle, a triolet of which the dominant 
line was Bower, Stampa, and Millicent Jaques. The 
meeting of Bower and Stampa was easy of explana- 
tion. After the guide’s story of the previous even- 
ing, nothing but Stampa’s death or Bower’s flight 
could prevent it. But the woman from the Welling- 
ton Theater, how had she come to know of their 
feud.P He was almost tempted to quote the only 
line of Moliere ever heard beyond the shores of 
France. 

Like every visitor to the Maloja, he was ac- 
quainted with each of its roads and footpaths except 
the identical one that these three descended. Where 
did it lead to? Before he quite realized what he 
was doing, he was walking up the hill. In places 
where the sun had not yet caught the snow there 
was a significant trail. Bower had come and gone 
once, Stampa, or some man wearing village-made 
boots, twice; but the single track left by Millicent’s 
smart footwear added another perplexing item to 
the puzzle. So he pressed on, and soon was gazing 
at the forlorn cemetery, with its signs of a furious 
struggle between the gateposts, the uncovered grave 
space, and Millicent’s track round two comers of 
the square built wall. 

It was part of his life’s training to read signs. 
The mining engineer who would hit on a six-inch 
lode in a mountain of granite must combine imagi- 
nation with knowledge, and Spencer quickly made 
out something of the silent story, — something, not 
28S 


THE SILENT BARRIER 


all, but enough to send him in haste to the hotel 
by the way Millicent had arrived on the scene. 

“ Guess there’s going to be a heap of trouble 
round here,” he said to himself. “ Helen must be 
recalled to London. It’s up to me to make the cable 
hot to Mackenzie.” 

He had yet to learn that the storm which brought 
about a good deal of the preceding twenty-four 
hours’ excitement had not acted in any niggardly 
fashion. It had laid low whole sections of the tele- 
graph system on both sides of the pass during the 
night. Gangs of men were busy repairing the wires. 
Later in the day, said a civil spoken attendant at 
the bureau des posies , a notice would be exhibited 
stating the probable hour of the resumption of 
service. 

“ Are the wires down beyond St. Moritz ” asked 
Spencer. 

I cannot give an assurance,” said the clerk ; ‘‘ but 
these southwest gales usually do not affect the 
Albula Pass. The road to St. Moritz is practicable, 
as this morning’s mail was only forty minutes be- 
hind time.” 

Spencer ordered a carriage, wrote a telegram, and 
gave it to the driver, with orders to forward it from 
St. Moritz if possible. And this was the text : 

“Mackenzie, ‘Firefly’ Office, Fleet-st., London. Wire 
Miss Wynton positive instructions to return to England imme- 
diately. Say she is wanted at office. I shall arrange matters 
before she arrives. This is urgent. Spencer.” 

284 * 


MILLICENT ARMS FOR THE FRAY 


A heavy weight gradually lifted off his shoulders, 
as he watched the wheels of the vehicle churning up 
the brown snow broth along the valley road. Within 
two hours his message would reach a telegraph of- 
fice. Two more would bring it to Mackenzie. With 
reasonable luck, the line repairers would link Maloja 
to the outer world that afternoon, and Helen would 
hie homeward in the morning. It was a pity that 
her holiday and his wooing should be interfered with; 
but who could have foretold that Millicent Jaques 
would drop from the sky in that unheralded way.^^ 
Her probable interference in the quarrel between 
Stampa and Bower put Mrs. de la Vere’s sugges- 
tion out of court. A woman bent on requiting a 
personal slight would never consent to forego such 
a chance of obtaining ample vengeance as Bower’s 
earlier history provided. 

In any case, Spencer was sure that the sooner 
Helen and he were removed from their present envi- 
ronment the happier they would be. He hoped most 
fervently that the course of events might be made 
smooth for their departure. He cared not a jot for 
the tittle-tattle of the hotel. Let him but see Helen 
re-established in London, and it would not be his 
fault if they did not set forth on their honeymoon 
before the year was much older. 

He disliked this secret plotting and contriving. 
He adopted such methods only because they offered 
the surest road to success. Were he to consult his 
feelings, he would go straight to Helen, tell 
^85 


own 


THE SILENT BARRIER 


her how chance had conspired with vagrom fancy 
to bring them together, and ask her to believe, as 
all who love are ready to believe, that their union 
was predestined throughout the ages. 

But he could not explain his presence in Switzer- 
land without referring to Bower, and the task was 
eminently distasteful. In all things concerning the 
future relations between Helen and himself, he was 
done with pretense. If he could help it, her first 
visit to the Alps should not have its record dark- 
ened by the few miserable pages tom out of Bower’s 
life. After many years the man’s sin had discov- 
ered him. That which was then done in secret was 
now about to be shrieked aloud from the housetops. 

Even the gods cannot undo the past,” said the 
old Greeks, and the stern dogma had lost nothing 
of its truth with the march of the centuries. In- 
deed, Spencer regretted his rival’s threatened ex- 
posure. If it lay in his power, he would prevent it : 
meanwhile, Helen must be snatched from the enduring 
knowledge of her innocent association with the of- 
fender and his pillory. He set his mind on the 
achievement. To succeed, he must monopolize her 
company until she quitted the hotel en route for 
London. 

Then he thought of Mrs. de la Vere as a helper. 
Her seeming shallowness, her glaring affectations, 
no longer deceived him. The mask lifted for an 
instant by that backward glance as she convoyed 
Helen to her room the previous night had proved 
286 


MILLICENT ARMS FOR THE FRAY 


altogether ineffective since their talk on the veranda. 
He did not stop to ask himself why such a woman, 
volatile, fickle, blown this way and that by social 
zephyrs, should champion the cause of romance. He 
simply thanked Heaven for it, nor sought other 
explanation than was given by his unwavering belief 
in the essential nobility of her sex. 

Therein he was right. Flad he trusted to her 
intuition, and told Millicent Jaques at the earliest 
possible moment exactly how matters stood between 
Helen and himself, it is only reasonable to suppose 
that the actress would have changed her plan of 
campaign. She had no genuine antipathy toward 
Helen, whose engagement to Spencer would be her 
strongest weapon against Bower. As matters stood, 
however, Helen was a stumbling block in her path, 
and her jealous rage was in process of being fanned 
to a passionate intensity, when Spencer, searching 
for Mrs. de la Vere, saw Millicent in the midst of a 
group composed of the Vavasours, mother and son, 
the General, and his daughters. 

Mrs. de Courcy Vavasour was the evil spirit who 
brought about this sinister gathering. She was 
awed by Bower, she would not risk a snubbing from 
Mrs. de la Vere, and she was exceedingly annoyed 
to think thai: Helen might yet topple her from her 
throne. To one of her type this final consideration 
was peculiarly galling. And the too susceptible 
Georgie would be quite safe with the lady from the 
Wellington Theater. Mrs. Vavasour remembered 
287 


THE SILENT BARRIER 


the malice in Millicent’s fine eyes when she refused 
to quail before Bower’s wrath. A hawk in pursuit 
of a plump pigeon would not turn aside to snap 
up an insignificant sparrow. So, being well versed 
in the tactics of these social skirmishes, she sought 
Millicetit’s acquaintance. 

The younger woman was ready to meet her more 
than halfway. The hotel gossips were the very per- 
sons whose aid she needed. A gracious smile and 
a pouting complaint against the weather were the 
preliminaries. In two minutes they were discussing 
Helen, and General Wragg was drawn into their 
chat. Georgie and the Misses Wragg, of course, 
came uninvited. They scented scandal as jackals 
sniff the feast provided by the mightier beasts. 

Millicent, really despising these people, but anxious 
to hear the story of Bower’s love making, made no 
secret of her own sorrows. “ Miss Wynton was my 
friend,” she said with ingenuous pathos. “ She 
never met Mr. Bower until I introduced her to him 
a few days before she came to Switzerland. You 
may guess what a shock it gave me when I heard 
that he had followed her here. Even then, knowing 
how strangely coincidence works at times, I refused 
to believe that the man who was my promised hus- 
band would abandon me under the spell of a mo- 
mentary infatuation. F'or it can be nothing more.” 

“Are you sure.^ ” asked the .sympathetic Mrs. 
Vavasour. 

“By gad!” growled Wragg, “I’m inclined to 

288 



A SCENE FROM THE PHOTO PLAY-THE SILENT BARRIER 





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MILLICENT ARMS FOR THE FRAY 


differ from you there, Miss Jaques. When Bower 
turned up last week they met as very old friends, I 
can assure you.” 

“ Obviously a prearranged affair,” said Mrs. 
Vavasour. 

“ None of us has had a look in since^” grinned 
Georgie vacuously. “ Even Reggie de la Vere, who 
is a deuce of a fellah with the girls, could not get 
within yards of her.” 

This remark found scant favor with his audience. 
Miss Beryl Wragg, who had affected de la Vere’s 
company for want of an eligible bachelor, pursed her 
lips scornfully. 

“ I can hardly agree with that,” she said. 
“ Edith de la Vere may be a sport; but she doesn’t 
exactly fling her husband at another woman’s head. 
Anyhow, it was amazing bad form on her part to 
include Miss Wynton in her dinner party last night.” 

Millicent’s blue eyes snapped. “ Did Helen Wyn- 
ton dine in public yesterday evening ” she de- 
manded. 

“ Rather ! Quite a lively crowd they were too.” 

“ Indeed. Who were the others ? ” 

“ Oh, the Badminton-Smythes, and the Bower 
man, and that American — what’s his name.? ” 

Then Millicent laughed shrilly. She saw her 
chance of delivering a deadly stroke, and took it 
without mercy. “ The American .? Spencer.? What 
a delightful mixture! Why, he is the very man who 
is paying Miss Wynton’s expenses.” 

289 


THE SILENT BARRIER 


“ So you said last night. A somewhat — er — dan- 
gerous statement,” coughed the General. 

Rather stiff, you know — Eh, what.?^ ” put in 
Georgie. 

His mother silenced him with a frosty glance. 
“ Of course you have good reasons for saying that.^ ” 
she interposed. 

Spencer passed at that instant, and there was a 
thrilling pause. Millicent was well aware that every 
ear was alert to catch each syllable. When she 
spoke, her words were clear and precise. 

“ Naturally, one would not say such a thing about 
any girl without the utmost certainty,” she purred. 
“ Even then, there are circumstances under which 
one ought to try and forget it. But, if it is a ques- 
tion as to my veracity in the matter, I can only as- 
sure you that Miss Wynton’s mission to Switzerland 
on behalf of ‘ The Firefly ’ is a mere blind for Mr. 
Spencer’s extraordinary generosity. He is acting 
through the paper, it is true. But some of 
you must have seen ‘ The Firefly.’ How could 
such a poor journal afford to pay a young lady 
one hundred pounds and give her a return 
ticket by the Engadine express for four silly 
articles on life in the High Alps ? Why, it is 
ludicrous ! ” 

“ Pretty hot, I must admit,” sniggered Georgie, 
thinking to make peace with Beryl Wragg; but she 
seemed to And his humor not to her taste. 

“ It is the kind of arrangement from which one 

290 


MILLICENT ARMS FOR THE FRAY 

draws one’s own conclusions,” said Mrs. Vavasour 
blandly. 

“But, I say, does Bower know this.?^” asked 
Wragg, swinging his eyeglasses nervously. Though 
he dearly loved these carpet battles, he was chary 
of figuring in them, having been caught badly more 
than once between the upper and nether millstones 
of opposing facts. 

“ You heard me tell him,” was Millicent’s confi- 
dent answer. “ If he requires further information, 
I am here to give it to him. Indeed, I have delayed 
my departure for that very reason. By the way. 
General, do you know Switzerland well.? ” 

“ Every hotel in the country,” he boasted proudly. 

“ I don’t quite mean in that sense. Who are the 
authorities.? For instance, if I had a friend buried 
in the cemetery here, to whom should I apply for 
identification of the grave.?” 

The General screwed up his features into a ju- 
dicial frown. “ Well — er — I should go to the com- 
munal office in the village, if I were you,” said he. 

Braving his mother’s possible displeasure, George 
de Courcy Vavasour asserted his manliness for 
Beryl’s benefit. , 

“I know the right Johnny,” he said. “Let me 
take you to him. Miss Jaques — Eh, what.?” 

Millicent affected to consider the proposal. She 
saw that Mrs. Vavasour was content. “ It is very 
kind of you,” she said, with her most charming smile. 
“ Have we time to go there before lunch.? ” 

291 


THE SILENT BARRIER 


« Oh, loads.” 

“ I am walking toward the village. May I come 
with you.?*” asked Beryl Wragg. 

“ That will be too delightful,” said Millicent. 

Georgie, feeling the claws beneath the velvet of 
Miss Wragg’s voice, could only suffer in silence. The 
three went out together. The two women did the 
talking, and Millicent soon discovered that Bower 
had unquestionably paid court to Helen from the 
first hour of his arrival in the Maloja, whereas Spen- 
cer seemed to be an utter stranger to her and to 
every other person in the place. This statement of- 
fered a curious discrepancy to the story retailed by 
Mackenzie’s assistant. But it strengthened her case 
against Helen. She grew more determined than ever 
to go on to the bitter end. 

A communal official raised no difficulty about giv- 
ing the name of the occupant of the grave marked 
by the seventh cross from the tomb she described. 
A child was buried there, a boy who died three years 
ago. With Beryl Wragg’s assistance, she cross ex- 
amined the man, but could not shake his faith in the 
register. 

The parents still lived in the village. The offi- 
cial knew them, and remembered the boy quite well. 
He had contracted a fever, and died suddenly. 

This was disappointing. Millicent, prepared to 
hear of a tragedy, was confronted by the common- 
place. But the special imp that attends all mischief 
makers prompted her next question. 


MILLICENT ARMS FOR THE FRAY 


“ Do you know Christian Stampa, the guide? ” 
she asked. 

The man grinned. Yes, signora. He has been 
on the road for years, ever sincfe he lost his 
daughter.” 

“ Was he any relation to the boy? What interest 
would he have in this particular grave ? ” 

The custodian of parish records stroked his chin. 
He took thought, and reached for another ledger. 
He ran a finger through an index and turned up 
a page. 

“ A strange thing ! ” he cried. “ Why, that is the 
very place where Etta Stampa is buried. You see, 
signora,’^ he explained, “ it is a small cemetery, and 
our people are poor.” 

Etta Stampa! Was this the clew? Millicent’s 
heart throbbed. How stupid that she had not 
thought of a woman earlier! 

‘‘How old was Etta Stampa?” she inquired. 

“ Her age is given here as nineteen, signora ; but 
that is a guess. It was a sad case. She killed her- 
self. She came from Zermatt. I have lived nearly 
all my life in this valley, and hers is the only suicide 
I can recall.” 

“ Why did she kill herself, and when ? ” 

The official supplied the date; but he had no 
knowledge of the affair beyond a village rumor that 
she had been crossed in love. As for poor old 
Stampa, who met with an accident about the same 
time, he never mentioned her. 

293 


THE SILENT BARRIER 


“ Stampa is the lame Johnny who went up the 
Forno yesterday,” volunteered Georgie, when they 
quitted the office. “ But, I say. Miss Jaques, his 
daughter couldn’t be a friend of yours ? ” 

Millicent did not answer. She was thinking 
deeply. Then she realized that Beryl Wragg was 
watching her intently. 

“ No,” she said, “ I did not mean to convey that 
she was my friend; only that one whom I know well 
was interested in her. Can you tell me how I can 
find out more of her history ” 

“ Some of the villagers may help,” said Miss 
Wragg. “ Shall we make inquiries It is marvelous 
how one comes across things in the most unlikely 
quarters.” 

Vavasour, whose stroll with a pretty actress had 
resolved itself into a depressing quest into the rec- 
ords of the local cemetery, looked at his watch. 
“ Time’s up,” he announced firmly. “ The luncheon 
gong will go in a minute or two, and this keen air 
makes one peckish — Eh, what.? ” 

So Millicent returned to the hotel, and when she 
entered the dining room she saw Helen and Spencer 
sitting with the de la Veres. Edith de la Vere stared 
at her in a particularly irritating way. Cynical con- 
tempt, bored amusement, even a quizzical surprise 
that such a vulgar person could be so well dressed, 
were carried by wireless telegraphy from the one 
woman to the other. Millicent countered with a 
studied indifference. She gave her whole attention 
294 ^ 


MILLICENT ARMS FOR THE FRAY 


to the efforts of the head waiter to find a seat to 
her liking. He offered her the choice between two. 
With fine self control, she selected that which turned 
her back on Flelen and her friends. 

She had just taken her place when Bower came 
in. He stopped near the door, and spoke to an 
under manager; but his glance swept the crowded 
room. Spencer and Helen happened to be almost 
facing him, and the girl was listening with a smile 
to something the American was saying. But there 
was a conscious shyness in her eyes, a touch of color 
on her sun browned face, that revealed more than 
she imagined. 

Bower, who looked ill and old, hesitated per- 
ceptibly. Then he seemed to reach some decision. 
He walked to Helen’s side, and bent over her with 
courteous solicitude. “ I hope that I am forgiven,” 
he said. 

She started. She was so absorbed in Spencer’s 
talk, which dealt with nothing more noteworthy than 
the excursion down the Vale of Bregaglia, which he 
secretly hoped would be postponed, that she had not 
observed Bower’s approach. 

^‘Forgiven, Mr. Bower For what.?” she asked, 
I blushing now for no assignable reason. 

‘‘For yesterday’s fright, and its sequel.” 

“ But I enjoyed it thoroughly. Please don’t think 
I am only a fair weather mountaineer.” 

“ No. I am not likely to commit that mistake. 
It was feminine spite, not elemental, that I fancied 
295 


THE SILENT BARRIER 


might have troubled you. Now I am going to face 
the enemy alone. Pity me, and please drink to my 
success.” 

He favored Spencer and the de la Veres with a 
comprehensive nod, and turned away, well satisfied 
that he had claimed a condition of confidence, of 
mutual trust, between Helen and himself. 

Millicent was reading the menu when she heard 
Bower’s voice at her shoulder. “ Good morning, 
Millicent,” he said. “ Shall we declare a truce.?’ May 
I eat at your table.? That, at least, will be original. 
Picture the amazement of the mob if the lion and 
the lamb split a small bottle.” 

He was bold; but chance had fenced her with 
triple brass. “ I really don’t feel inclined to for- 
give you,” she said, with a quite forgiving smile. 

He sat down. The two were watched with discreet 
stupefaction by many. 

“ Never give rein to your emotions, Millicent. 
You did so last night, and blundered badly in conse- 
quence. Artifice is the truest art, you know. Let 
us, then, be unreal, and act as though we were the 
dearest friends.” 

“We are, I imagine. Self interest should keep us 
solid.” 

Bower affected a momentary absorption in the wine 
list. He gave his order, and the waiter left them. 

“ Now, I want you to be good,” he said. “ Put 
your cards on the table, and I will do the same. Let 
us discuss matters without prejudice, as the lawyers 

^96 


MILLICENT ARMS FOR THE FRAY 


say. And, in the first instai^ce, tell me exactly what 
you imply by the statement that Mr. Charles K. 
Spencer, of Denver, Colorado, as he appears in the 
hotel register, is responsible for Helen Wynton’s 
presence here to-day.” 


m 



CHAPTER XV 
A coward’s victory 

It is a queer story,” said Bower. 

“ Because it is true,” retorted Millicent. 

“ Yet she never set eyes on the man until she met 
him here.” 

“ That is rather impossible, isn’t it.^^ ” 

“ It is a fact, nevertheless. On the day I arrived 
in Maloja, a letter came from the editor of ‘ The 
Firefly,’ telling her that he had written to Spencer, 
whom he knew, and suggested that they should be- 
come acquainted.” 

“ These things are easily managed,” said Milli- 
cent airily. 

“ I accept Miss Wynton’s version.” Bower spoke 
with brutal frankness. The morning’s tribulation 
had worn away some of the veneer. He fully ex- 
pected the girl to flare into ill suppressed rage. Then 
he could deal with her as he liked. He had not 
298 


A COWARD’S VICTORY 


earned his repute in the city of London without re- 
vealing at times the innate savagery of his nature. 
As soon as he had taunted his adversaries into a 
passion, he found the weak joints in their armor. 
He was surprised now that Millicent should laugh. 
If she was acting, she was acting well. 

“ It is too funny for words to see you playing 
the trustful swain,” she said. 

“ One necessarily believes the best of one’s future 
wife.” 

“ So you still keep up that pretense.?’ It was a 
good line in last night’s situation; but it becomes 
farcical when applied to light comedy.” 

“ I give you credit for sufficient wit to understand 
why I joined you here. We can avoid unpleasant 
explanations. I am prepared to bury the hatchet — 
on terms.” 

“ Terms ? ” 

‘‘ Yes. You are a blackmailer, a somewhat dan- 
gerous one. You tempt me to revise the wisest of 
La Rochefoucauld’s maxims, and say that every 
woman is at heart a snake. You owe everything to 
me; yet you are not content. Without my help you 
would still be carrying a banner in the chorus. Un- 
less I continue my patronage, that is what you must 
go back to. Don’t imagine that I am treating with 
you out of sentiment. For Helen’s sake, for her 
sake only, I offer a settlement.” 

Millicent’s eyes narrowed a little; but she affected 
to admire the gleaming beads in a glass of cham- 
299 


THE SILENT BARRIER 


pagne. “ Pray continue/’ she said. “ Your views 
are interesting.” 

There was some danger lest Bower should re- 
verse his wonted procedure, and lose his own temper 
in this unequal duel. They both spoke in low tones. 
Anyone watching them would find the smiles of con- 
ventionality on their lips. To all outward seeming, 
they were indulging in a friendly gossip. 

“ Of course, you want money,” he said. “ That 
is the be-all and end-all of your existence. Very 
well. Write a letter to Miss Wynton apologizing for 
your conduct, take yourself away from here at three 
o’clock, and from St. Moritz by the next train, and 
I not only withdraw my threat to bar you in the 
profession but shall hand you a check for a thou- 
sand pounds.” 

Millicent pretended to consider his proposal. She 
shook her head. “ Not nearly enough,” she said, 
with a sweetly deprecatory moue. 

‘‘ It is all you will get. I repeat that I am doing 
this to spare Helen’s feelings. Perhaps I am ill 
advised. You have done your worst already, and 
it only remains for me to crush you. But I stick to 
the bargain — for five minutes.” 

“ Dear, dear ! ” she sighed. ‘‘ Only five minutes ? 
Do you get rid of your troubles so quickly How 
nice to be a man, and to be able to settle matters 
with such promptitude.” 

Bower was undeniably perplexed; but he held to 
his line. Unwavering tenacity of purpose was his 
300 


A COWARD’S VICTORY 

chief characteristic. “ Meanwhile,” he said, “ let us 
talk of the weather.” 

“ A most seasonable topic. It was altogether 
novel this morning to wake and find the world cov- 
ered with snow.” 

“ If the Maloja is your world, you must have 
thought it rather chilling,” he laughed. 

“ Yes, cold, perhaps, but fascinating. I went for 
a walk. You see, I wanted to be alone, to think what 
I should do for the best. A woman is so helpless 
when she has to fight a big, strong man like you. 
Chance led me to the cemetery. What an odd little 
place it is.?^ Wouldn’t you hate to be buried there.? ” 

It was now Millicent’s turn to be surprised. Not 
by the slightest tremor did Bower betray the shock 
caused by her innuendo. His nerves were proof 
against further assault that day. Fear had con- 
quered him for an instant when he looked into the 
gate of darkness. With its passing from before his 
eyes, his intellect resumed its sway, and he weighed 
events by that nicely adjusted balance. None but a 
man who greatly dared would be sitting opposite 
Millicent at that moment. None but a fool would 
have failed to understand her. But he gave no sign 
that he understood. He refilled his glass, and emp- 
tied it with the gusto of a connoisseur. 

“ That is a good wine,” he said. “ Sometimes 
pints are better than quarts, although of the same 
vintage. Waiter, another half bottle, please.” 

“No more for me, of course,” murmured Milli- 

301 


THE SILENT BARRIER 


cent. “ I must keep mj head clear, — so much de- 
pends on the next five minutes.” 

‘‘ Three, to be exact.” 

“ Ah, then, I must use them to advantage. Shall 
I tell you more about my early stroll.'^ ” 
i “ What time did you go out ? ” 

“ Soon after ten o’clock.” . 

“ You saw — what.? ” 

“ A most exciting struggle — and — what shall I 
call it.? — a ceremony.” 

Bower was silent for an appreciable time. He 
watched a waiter uncorking the champagne. When 
the bottle was placed on the table he pretended to 
read the label. He was thinking that Stampa’s mar- 
riage service was not so futile, after all. It had soon 
erected its first barrier. Millicent, who had quali- 
ties rare in a woman, turned and looked at a clock. 
Incidentally, she discovered that Spencer was devot- 
ing some attention to the proceedings at her table. 
Still Bower remained silent. She stole a glance at 
him. She was conscious that an abiding dread was 
stealing into her heart; but her stage training came 
to her aid, and she managed to say evenly: 

“ My httle ramble does not appear to interest 
jjyou.?” 

“ It does,” he said. “ I have been arguing the 
pros and cons of a ticklish problem. There are two 
courses to me. I can either bribe you, or leave you 
to your own devices. The latter method implies the 
interference of the police. I dislike that. Helen 
302 


A COWARD’S VICTORY 


would certainly be opposed to it. I make the one 
thousand into five; but I want your answer now.” 

“ I accept,” she said instantly. 

Ah, but you are trembling. Queer, isn’t it, how 
thin is the partition between affluence and a prison 
There are dozens of men who stand high in com- 
mercial circles in London who ought to be in jail. 
There are quite as many convicts in Portland who 
reached penal servitude along precisely the same 
road. That is the penalty of being found out. Let 
me congratulate you. And do try another glass 
of this excellent wine. You need it, and you have 
to pack your belongings at once, you know.” 

“ Thank you.” 

Her eyes sparkled. Her well modulated voice was 
hardly under control. Five thousand pounds was a 
great deal of money ; but the tragedy of Etta 
Stampa’s life might have been worth more. How 
could she find out the whole truth She must ac- 
complish that, in some way. 

Therein, however, she greatly miscalculated. 
Bower divined her thought almost before it was 
formed. “ For goodness’ sake, let us put things in 
plain English ! ” he said. “ I am paying you hand- 
somely to save the woman I am going to marry from 
some little suffering and heartache. Perhaps it is 
unnecessary. Her fine nature might forgive a man 
a transgression of his youth. At any rate, I avert 
the risk by this payment. The check will be payable 
to you personally. In other words, you must place 
303 


THE SILENT BARRIER 


it to your own account in your bank. Any breach 
of our contract in letter or spirit during the next 
two days will be punished by its stoppage. After 
that time, the remotest hint on your part of any 
scandalous knowledge affecting me, or Helen, or the 
causes which led to my present weakness in allowing 
you to blackmail me, will imply the immediate issue 
of a warrant for your arrest. Need I explain the 
position at greater length ” 

“ No,” said Millicent, who wished now that she 
had bitten off the end of her tongue before she vented 
her spleen to the Vavasours and the Wraggs. 

“ On second thoughts,” went on Bower uncon- 
cernedly, ‘‘ I forego the stipulation as to a letter of 
apology. I don’t suppose Helen will value it. As- 
suredly, I do not.” 

The cheapening of her surrender stung more than 
she counted on. “ I have tried to avoid the appear- 
ance of uncalled for rudeness to-day,” she blurted 
out. 

“ Well — yes. What is the number of your 

room.f^ ” 

She told him. 

I shall send the check to you at once. Have 
you finished? ” 

He accompanied her to the door, bowed her out, 
and came back. Smiling affably, he pulled a chair 
to Mrs. de la Vere’s side. 

“ I quite enjoyed my luncheon,” he said. “ You 
all heard that stupid outburst of Millicent’s last 
304 


A COWARD’S VICTORY 


night; so there is no harm in telling you that she 
regrets it. She is leaving the hotel forthwith.” 

Helen rose suddenly. “ She is one of my few 
friends,” she said. “ I cannot let her go in anger.” 

“ She is unworthy of your friendship,” exclaimed 
Bowser sharply. “ Take my advice and forget that 
she exists.” 

“ You cannot forget that anyone exists, or has 
existed,” said Spencer quietly. 

“What.?’ You too.?” said Bower. His eyes 
sought the American’s, and flashed an unspoken chal- 
lenge. 

He felt that the world was a few hundred years 
too old. There were historical precedents for set- 
tling affairs such as that now troubling him by means 
that would have appealed to him. But he opposed 
no further hindrance to Helen’s departure. Indeed, 
he perceived that her meeting with Millicent would 
provide in some sense a test of his own judgment. 
He would soon learn whether or not money would 
prevail. 

He waited a little while, and then sent his valet 
with the check and a request for an acknowledg- 
ment. The man brought him a scribbled note: 

“ Was rather taken aback by appearance of H. She says you 
told her I was leaving the hotel. We fell on each other’s neck 
and wept. Is that right ? M. J.” 

He cut the end off a cigar, lit the paper with a 
match, and lit the cigar with the paper. 

305 


THE SILENT BARRIER 


“ Five thousand pounds ! ” he said to himself. It 
is a lot of money to one who has none. I remember 
the time when I would have sold my soul to the 
devil for half the amount.” 

But that was not a pleasing notion. It suggested 
that, by evil hazard, some such contract had, in fact, 
been made, but forgotten by one of the parties to 
it. So he dismissed it. Having disposed of Stampa 
and Millicent, practically between breakfast and 
lunch, there were no reasons why he should trouble 
further about them. The American threatened a 
fresh obstacle. He was winning his way with Helen 
altogether too rapidly. In the light of those om- 
inous words at the luncheon table his close associa- 
tion with Stampa indicated a definite knowledge of 
the past. Curse him ! Why did he interfere ? 

Bower was eminently a selfish man. He had en- 
joyed unchecked success for so long a time that he 
railed now at the series of mischances that tripped 
the feet of his desires. Looking back through re- 
cent days, he was astonished to find how often Spen- 
cer had crossed his path. Before he was four hours 
in Maloja, Helen, in his hearing, had singled out 
the American for conjecture and scrutiny. Then 
Dunston spoke of the same man as an eager ad- 
versary at baccarat; but the promised game was 
arranged without Spencer’s cooperation, greatly to 
Dunston’s loss. A man did not act in such fashion 
without some motive. What was it? This reserved, 
somewhat contemptuous rival had also snatched 
30G 


A COWAKD’S VICTORY 


Helen from his company many times. He had un- 
doubtedly rendered some service in coming to the 
Forno hut; but Bower’s own lapse from sanity on 
that occasion did not escape his notice. Finally, this 
cool mannered, alert youngster from the New World 
did not seem to care a fig for any prior claim on 
Helen’s affections. His whole attitude might be ex- 
plained by the fact that he was Stampa’s employer, 
and had won the old guide’s confidence. 

Yes, the American was the real danger. That pale 
ghost conjured from the grave by Stampa was in- 
tangible, powerless, a dreamlike wraith evoked by a 
madman’s fancy. Already the fear engendered 
myopia of the morning was passing from Bower’s 
eyes. The passage of arms with Millicent had done 
him good. He saw now that if he meant to win 
Helen he must fight for her. 

Glancing at his watch, he found that the time was 
a quarter to three. He opened a window in his sit- 
ting room, which was situated in the front of the 
hotel. By leaning out he could survey the carriage 
stand at the foot of the long flight of steps. A 
pair-horse vehicle was drawn up there, and men were 
fastening portly dress baskets in the baggage car- 
rier over the hind wheels. 

He smiled. “ The pretty dancer travels luxuri- 
ously,” he thought. “ I wonder whether she will be 
honest enough to pay her debts with my money ? ” 

He still hated her for having dragged him into 
a public squabble. He looked to the future to re- 
307 


THE SILENT BARRIER 


quite him. A year, two years, would soon pass. 
Then, when funds were low and engagements scarce, 
she would appeal to him again, and his solicitors 
would reply. He caught himself framing curt, 
stinging sentences to be embodied in the letter; but 
he drew himself up with a start. Surely there was 
something very wrong with Mark Bower, the mil- 
lionaire, when he gloated over such paltry details. 
Why, his reflections were worthy of that old spit- 
fire, Mrs. de Courcy Vavasour. 

His cigar had gone out. He threw it away. It 
had the taste of Millicent’s cheap passion. A de- 
canter of brandy stood on the table, and he drank 
a small quantity, though he had imbibed freely of 
champagne at luncheon. He glanced at a mirror. 
His face was flushed and care lined, and he scowled 
at his own apparition. 

“ I must go and see the last of Millicent. It will 
cheer me up,” he said to himself. 

When he entered the foyer, Millicent was already 
in the veranda, a dainty picture in furs and feathers. 
Somewhat to his surprise, Helen was with her. A 
good many people were watching them covertly, a 
quite natural proceeding in view of their strained 
relations overnight. 

Millicent’s first action after quitting the salle a 
manger had been to worm out of Leontine the full, 
true, and particular history of Etta Stampa, or so 
much of the story as was known to the hotel serv- 
ants. The recital was cut short by Helen’s visit, 
308 


A COWARD’S VICTORY 


but resumed during packing operations, as Millicent 
had enlarged her store of knowledge considerably 
during the process of reconciliation. 

So, alive to possibilities going far beyond a single 
check, even for five thousand pounds, at the last mo- 
ment she sent a message to Helen. 

“ Come and see me off,” she wrote. “ It will simply paralyze 
the dowager brigade if we hug each other on the mat.” 

Helen agreed. She was not sorry that her critics 
should be paralyzed, or stupefied, or rendered inca- 
pable in some way of inflicting further annoyance. 
In her present radiant mood, nearly all her troubles 
having taken unto themselves wings, she looked on 
yesterday’s episode in the light of a rather far 
fetched joke. Bower stood so high in her esteem 
that she was sure the outspoken announcement of his 
intentions was dictated chiefly by anger at Milli- 
cent’s unfair utterances. Perhaps he had some 
thought of marriage; but he must seek a wife in a 
more exalted sphere. She felt in her heart that Spen- 
cer was only awaiting a favorable opportunity to 
declare his love, and she did not strive to repress 
the wave of divine happiness that flooded her heart 
at the thought. 

After much secret pondering and some shy confi- 
dences intrusted to Mrs. de la Vere, she had resolved 
to tell him that if he left the Maloja at once — an 
elastic phrase in lovers’ language — and came to her 
309 


THE SILENT BARRIER 


in London next month, she would have an answer 
ready. She persuaded herself that there was no 
other honorable way out of an embarrassing posi- 
tion. She had come to Switzerland for work, not 
for love making. Spencer would probably wish to 
marry her forthwith, and that was not to be thought 
of while “ The Firefly’s ” commission was only half 
completed. All of which modest and maidenly rea- 
soning left wholly out of account Spencer’s strenu- 
ous wooing ; it is chronicled here merely to show her 
state of mind when she kissed Millicent farewell. 

It is worthy of note also that two young people 
who might be expected to take the liveliest interest 
in each other’s company were steadfast in their de- 
termination to separate. Each meant to send the 
other back to England with the least possible delay, 
and both were eager to fly into each other’s arms — 
in London ! Whereat the gods may have laughed, 
or frowned, as the case may be, if they glanced at 
the horoscopes of certain mortals pent within the 
mountain walls of the Upper Engadine. 

While Helen was still gazing after Millicent’s re- 
treating carriage. Bower came from the darksome 
foyer to the sunlit veranda. “ So you parted the . 
best of friends he said quietly. 

She turned and looked at him with shining eyes. 

“ I cannot tell you how pleased I am that a stupid 
misunderstanding should be cleared away ! ” she 
said. 

“ Then I share your pleasure, though, to be 

310 


can- 


A COWARD’S VICTORY 


did, I was thinking that a woman’s kiss has infinite 
gradations. It may savor of Paradise or the Dead 
Sea.” 

“ But she told me how grieved she was that she 
had behaved so foolishly, and appealed to me not 
to let the folly of a day break the friendship of 
years.” 

“ Ah ! Millicent picks up some well turned senti- 
ments on the stage. Come out for a little stroll, 
and tell me all about it.” 

Helen hesitated. “ It will soon be tea time,” she 
said, with a self conscious blush. She had promised 
Spencer to walk with him to the chateau; but her 
visit to Millicent had intervened, and he was not on 
the veranda at the moment. 

We need not go far. The sun has garnished 
the roads for us. What do you say if we make for 
the village, and interview Johann Klucker’s cat on 
the weather ? ” 

His tone was quite reassuring. To her transpar- 
ent honesty of purpose it seemed better that they 
should discuss Millicent’s motive in coming to the 
hotel and then dismiss it for ever. “ A most excel- 
lent idea,” she cried lightly. “ I have been writing 
all the morning, so a breath of fresh air will be 
grateful.” 

They passed down the steps. 

They had not gone more than a few paces when 
the driver of an empty carriage pulled up his vehi- 
cle and handed Bower a telegram. 

311 


THE SILENT BARRIER 


‘‘ They gave it to me at St. Moritz, Herr Bower,” 
he said. “ I took a message there for Herr Spencer, 
and they asked me to bring this to you, as it would 
reach you more quickly than if it came by the post.” 

Bower thanked the man, and opened the envelop. 
It was a very long telegram ; but he only glanced at 
it in the most cursory manner before putting it in 
a pocket. 

At a distant corner of the road by the side of 
the lake, Millicent turned for a last look at the 
hotel and waved a hand at them. Helen replied. 

“ I almost wish now she was staying here a few 
days,” she said wistfully. ‘‘ She ought to have seen 
our valley in its summer greenery.” 

“ I fear she brought winter in her train,” was 
Bower’s comment. “ But the famous cat must de- 
cide. Here, boy,” he went on, hailing a village 
urchin, “where is Johann Klucker’s house.?” 

The boy pointed to a track that ran close to the 
right bank of the tiny Inn. He explained volubly, 
and was rewarded with a franc. 

“Do you know this path.?” asked Bower. 
“ Klucker’s chalet is near the waterfall, which should 
be a fine sight owing to the melting snow.” 

It was Helen’s favorite walk. She would have pre- 
ferred a more frequented route; but the group of 
houses described by the boy was quite near, and she 
could devise no excuse for keeping to the busy high- 
way. As the path was narrow she walked in front. 
The grass and flowers seemed to have drawn fresh 
312 


A COWARD’S VICTORY 


tints from the snow, which had cleared away with 
magical rapidity from this sheltered spot. But the 
little rivulet, usually diamond bright, was now a tur- 
bulent and foaming stream. Care was needed not 
to slip. If anyone fell into that miniature torrent, 
it would be no easy matter to escape without broken 
bones. 

“ Would you ever believe that a few hours’ snow, 
followed by a hot sun, would make, such a differ- 
ence to a mere ribbon of water like this ” she asked, 
when they were passing through a narrow cleft in a 
wall of rock through which the Inn roared with a 
quite respectable fury. 

“ I am in a mood to believe anything,” said 
Bower. Do you remember our first meeting at the 
Embankment Hotel.? Who would have imagined then 
that Millicent Jaques, a few weeks later, would rush 
a thousand miles to the Maloja and scream her woes 
to Heaven and the multitude. Neither you nor I, 
I fancy, had seen her during the interval. Did she 
tell you the cause of her extraordinary behavior ? ” 

“ No. I did not ask her. But it scarce needed 
explanation, Mr. Bower. I — I fear she suspected me 
of flirting. It was unjust; but I can well conceive 
that a woman who thinks her friend is robbing her 
of a man’s affections does not wait to consider nice 
points of procedure.” 

“ Surely Millicent did not say that I had prom- 
ised to marry her.? ” 

Though Helen was not prepared for this down- 

313 


THE SILENT BARRIER 


right plunge into an embarrassing discussion, she 
managed to evade a direct answer. “ There was 
more than a suggestion of that in her words last 
night,” she said. “ Perhaps she thought so in all 
seriousness. You seem to have undeceived her to- 
day, and I am sure you must have dealt with her 
kindly, or she would not have acknowledged her mis- 
take in such frank terms to me. There, now! That 
is the end of a very disagreeable episode. Shall we 
say no more about it.? ” 

Helen was flushed and hurried of speech: but she 
persevered bravely, hoping that Bower’s tact would 
not desert him at this crisis. She quickened her pace 
a little, with the air of one who has said the last 
word on a difficult topic and is anxious to forget it. 

Bower overtook her. He grasped her shoulder 
almost roughly, and drew her round till she faced 
him. “ You are trying to escape me, Helen ! ” he 
said hoarsely. “ That is impossible. Someone must 
have told you what I said to Millicent in the hearing 
of all who chose to listen. Her amazing outbui^st 
forced from me an avowal that should have been 
made to you alone. Helen, I want you to be my wife. 
I love you better than all the world. I have my 
faults, — what man is flawless.? — ^but I have the abid- 
ing virtue of loving you. I shall make your life 
happy, Helen. For God’s sake do not tell me that 
you are already promised to another ! ” 

His eyes blazed into hers with a passion that was 
appalling in its intensity. She seemed to lose the 


A COWARD’S VICTORY 


power to speak or move. She looked up at him like 
a frightened child, who hears strange words that 
she does not comprehend. Thinking he had won her, 
he threw his arms about her and strained her fiercely 
to his breast. He strove to kiss away the tears that 
began to fall in piteous protest ; but she bent her 
head as if in shame. 

“ Oh, please let me go ! ” she sobbed. “ Please 
let me go ! What have I done that you should treat 
me so cruelly.” 

‘‘ Cruelly, Helen.? How should I be cruel to you 
whom I hold so dear ? ” 

Still he clasped her tightly, hardly knowing what 
he did in his transport of joy at the belief that she 
was his. 

She struggled to free herself. She shrank from 
this physical contact with a strange repulsion. She 
felt as a timid animal must feel when some lord of 
the jungle pulls it down and drags it to his lair. 
Bower was kissing her cheeks, her forehead, her hair, 
finding a mad rapture in the fragrance of her skin. 
He crushed her in a close embrace that was almost 
suffocating. 

“ Oh, please let me go ! ” she wailed. ‘‘ You 
frighten me. Let me go! How dare you!” 

She fought so wildly that he yielded to a dim 
sense that she was in earnest. He relaxed his grip^ 
With the instinct of a hunted thing, she took a dan- 
gerous leap for safety clean across the swollen Inn.. 
Luckily she alighted on a broad boulder, or a sprained 
315 


THE SILENT BARRIER 


ankle would have been the least penalty for that 
desperate means of escape. 

As she stood there, with tears streaming down her 
face and the crimson brand of angry terror on her 
brow, the dreadful knowledge that he had lost her 
smote Bower like a rush of cold air from a newly 
opened tomb. Between them brawled the tiny tor- 
rent. It offered no bar to an active man; but even 
in his panic of sudden perception he resisted the 
impulse that bade him follow. 

“ Helen,” he pleaded, stretching forth his hands 
in frenzied gesture, “ why do you cast me off.? I 
swear by all a man holds sacred that I mean no 
wrong. You are dear to me as life itself. Ah, 
Helen, say that I may hope ! I do not even ask for 
your love. I shall win that by a lifetime of 
devotion.” 

At last she found utterance. He had alarmed her 
greatly; but no woman can feel it an outrage that 
a man should avow his longing. And she pitied 
Bower with a great pity. Deep down in her heart 
was a suspicion that they might have been happy 
together had they met sooner. She would never have 
loved him, — she knew that now beyond cavil, — ^but 
if they were married she must have striven to make 
life pleasant for him, while she drifted down the 
smooth stream of existence free from either abiding 
joys or carking sorrows. 

“ I am more grieved than I can tell that this 
should have happened,” she said, striving hard to 
316 


A COWARD’S VICTORY 

restrain the sob in her voice, though it gave her 
words the ring of genuine regret. “ I little dreamed 
that you thought of me in that way, Mr. Bower. 
But I can never marry you — never, no matter what 
the circumstances ! Surely you will help me to dis- 
pel the memory of a foolish moment. It has been 
-trying to both of us. Let us pretend that it never 
was.” 

Had she struck him with a whip he could not have 
flinched so visibly beneath the lash as from the 
patent honesty of her words. For a time he did not 
answer, and the sudden calm that came quick on the 
heels of frenzy had in it a weird peacefulness. 

Neither could ever again forget the noisy rush 
of the stream, the glad singing of birds in a thicket 
overhanging the bank, the tinkle of the cow bells 
as the cattle began to climb to the pastures for a 
luxurious hour ere sundown. It was typical of their 
lives that they should be divided by the infant Inn, 
almost at its source, and that thenceforth the bar- 
rier should become ever wider and deeper till it 
reached the infinite sea. 

He seemed to take his defeat well. He was pale, 
and his lips twitched with the effort to attain com- 
posure. He looked at Helen with a hungry longing 
that was slowly acknowledging restraint. 

“ I must have frightened you,” he said, breaking 
a silence that was growing irksome. ‘‘ Of course I 
apologize for that. But we cannot leave things 
where they are. If you must send me away from 
317 


THE SILENT BARRIER 


you, I may at least demand a clear understanding. 
Have no fear that I shall distress you further. May 
I join you, or will you walk to the bridge a little 
higher up ? ” 

“ Let us return to the hotel,” she protested. 

“ No, no. We are not children. We have broken 
no law of God or man. Why should I be ashamed 
of having asked you to marry me, or you to listen, 
even though it be such a hopeless fantasy as you 
say.? ” 

Helen, deeply moved in his behalf, walked to a 
bridge of planks a little distance up stream. Bower 
joined her there. He had deliberately resolved to 
do a dastardly thing. If Spencer was the cause of 
Helen’s refusal, that obstacle, at any rate, could be 
smashed to a pulp. 

“ Now, Helen,” he said, “ I want you to believe 
that your happiness is my only concern. Perhaps, 
at some other time, you may allow me to renew in 
less abrupt manner the proposal I have made to- 
day. But when you hear all that I have to tell, you 
will be forced to admit that I placed your high re- 
pute above every other consideration in declaring 
my love before, rather than after, you learned how 
and why you came to Switzerland.” 

His manner was becoming more calm and judicial 
each moment. It reacted on Helen, who gazed at 
him with a very natural surprise in her still tear- 
laden eyes. 

“ That, at least, is simple enough,” she cried. 

318 


A COWARD’S VICTORY 


“ No. It is menacing, ugly, a trick calculated to 
wound you sorely. When first it came to my ears 
I refused to credit the vile meanness of it. You saw 
that telegram which reached my hands as we quitted 
the hotel.? It is a reply to certain inquiries I caused 
to be made in London. Read it.” 

Helen took the crumpled sheets of thin paper 
and began to read. Bower watched her face with a 
maleficent confidence that might have warned her 
had she seen it. But she paid heed to nothing else 
at that moment save the mysterious words scrawled 
in a foreign handwriting: 

“ Have investigated ‘ Firefly ’ incident fully. Pargrave com- 
pelled Mackenzie to explain. The American, Charles K. Spen- 
cer, recently residing at Embankment Hotel, is paying Miss 
Helen Wynton’s expenses, including cost of publishing her 
articles. He followed her on the day of her departure, and 
has since asked Mackenzie for introduction. Pargrave greatly 
annoyed, and holds Mackenzie at your disposal. 

“ Kexnet.” 

Helen went very white; but she spoke with a firm- 
ness that was amazing, even to Bower. “ Who is 
Kennet.?” she said. 

“ One of my confidential clerks.” 

“ And Pargrave.? ” 

‘‘ The proprietor of ‘ The Firefly.’ ” 

‘‘ Did Millicent know of this — ^plot.? ” 

“ Yes.” 

Then she murmured a broken prayer. “ Ah, dear 
Heaven ! ” she complained, “ for what am I punished 
so bitterly.? ” 


319 


THE SILENT BARRIER 


Karl, the voluble and sharp-eyed, retailed a bit of 
gossip to Stampa that evening as they smoked in 
Johann Klucker’s chalet. “ As I was driving the 
cattle to the middle alp to-day, I saw our frdulein 
in the arms of the big voyageur,” he said. 

Stampa withdrew his pipe from between his teeth. 
*‘Say that again,” he whispered, as though afraid 
*of being overheard. 

Karl did so, with fuller details. 

Are you sure ? ” asked Stampa. 

Karl sniffed scornfully. “ Ach^ Gott! How could 
I err ? ” he cried. “ There are not so many pretty 
women in the hotel that I should not recognize our 
frdulein. And who would forget Herr Bower.? He 
gave me two louis for a ten francs job. We must 
get them together on the hills again, Christian. He 
will be soft hearted now, and pay well for taking 
care of his lady.” 

“ Yes,” said Stampa, resuming his pipe. “ You 
are right, Karl. There is no place like the hills. 
And he will pay — the highest price, look you \ 
Saperlotte! I shall exact a heavy fee this time.” 



CHAPTER XVI 


SPENCER EXPLAINS 

A SUSTAINED rapping on the inner door of the 
hut roused Helen from dreamless sleep. In the twi- 
light of the mind that exists between sleeping and 
waking she was bewildered by the darkness, perhaps 
baffled by her novel surroundings. She strove to 
pierce the gloom with wide-open, unseeing eyes, but 
the voice of her guide broke the spell. 

Time to get up, signora. The sun is on the 
rock, and we have a piece of bad snow to cross.” 

Then she remembered, and sighed. The sigh was 
involuntary, the half conscious tribute of a wearied 
heart. It needed an effort to brace herself against 
the long hours of a new day, the hours when thoughts 
would come unbidden, when regrets that she was 
fighting almost fiercely would rush in and threaten 
to overwhelm her. But Helen was brave. She had 
the courage that springs from the conviction of hav- 
821 


THE SELENT BARRIER 


ing done that which is right. If she was a woman 
too, with a woman’s infinite capacity for suffering — 
well, that demanded another sort of bravery, a re- 
solve to subdue the soul’s murmurings, a spiritual 
teeth-clenching in the determination to prevail, a 
complete acceptance of unmerited wrongs in obedi- 
ence to some inexplicable decree of Providence. 

So she rose from a couch which at least demanded 
perfect physical health ere one could find rest on 
it, and, being fully dressed, went forth at once to 
drink the steaming hot coffee that filled the tiny hut 
with its fragrance. 

“A fine morning, Pietro.?” she asked, addressing 
the man who had summoned her. 

“ Siy signora. Dawn is breaking with good prom- 
ise. There is a slight mist on the glacier; but the 
rock shows clear in the sun.” 

She knew that an amiable grin was on the man’s 
face ; but it was so dark in the cahane that she could 
see little beyond the figures of the guide and his com- 
panion. She went to the door, and stood for a min- 
ute on the narrow platform of rough stones that 
provided the only level space in a witches’ cauldron 
of moss covered boulders and rough ice. Berf^th 
her feet was an ultramarine mist, around her were 
masses of black rock; but overhead was a glorious 
pink canopy, fringed by far flung circles of translu- 
cent blue and tenderest green. And this heaven’s 
own shield was ever widening. Eastward its arc was 
broken by an irregular dark mass, whose pin- 
322 


SPENCER EXPLAINS 


nacles glittered like burnished gold. That was the 
Aguagliouls Rock, which rises so magnificently in 
the midst of a vast ice field, like some great portal 
to the wonderland of the Bernina. She had seen it 
the night before, after leaving the small restaurant 
that nestles at the foot of the Roseg Glacier. Then 
its scarred sides, brightened by the crimson and vio- 
let rays of the setting sun, looked friendly and in- 
viting. Though its base was a good mile distant 
across the snow-smoothed surface of the ice, she 
could discern every crevice and ledge and steep 
couloir. Now, all these distinguishing features were 
merged in the sea-blue mist. The great wall itself 
seemed to be one vast, unscalable precipice, capped 
by a series of shining spires. 

And for the first time in three sorrowful days, 
while her eyes dwelt on that castle above the clouds, 
the mysterious grandeur of nature healed her vexed 
spirit, and the peace that passeth all understanding 
fell upon her. The miserable intrigues and jeal- 
ousies of the past weeks were so insignificant, so far 
away, up here among the mountains. Had she only 
consulted her own happiness, she mused, she would 
not have ordered events differently. There was no 
real reason why she should have flown from the hotel 
like a timid deer roused by hounds from a thicket. 
Instead of doubling and twisting from St. Moritz 
to Samaden, and back by carriage to a remote hotel 
in the Roseg Valley, she might have remained and 
defied her persecutors. But now the fume and fret 
32S 


THE SILENT BARRIER 


were ended, and she tried to persuade herself she was 
glad. She felt that she could never again endure 
the sight of Bower’s face. The memory of his pas- 
sionate embrace, of his blazing eyes, of the thick 
sensual lips that forced their loathsome kisses upon 
her, was bitter enough without the need of reviving 
it each time they met. She was sorry it was impos- 
sible to bid farewell to Mrs. de la Vere. Any hint 
of her intent would have drawn from that well-dis- 
posed cynic a flood of remonstrance hard to stem; 
though nothing short of force would have kept 
Helen at Maloja once she was sure of Spencer’s 
double dealing. 

Of course, she might write to Mrs. de la Vere 
when she was in calmer mood. It would be easier 
then to pick and choose the words that would con- 
vey in full measure her detestation of the American. 
For she hated him — yes, hatred alone was satisfying. 
She despised her own heart because it whispered a 
protest. Yet she feared him too. It was from him 
that she fled. She admitted this to her honest mind 
while she watched the spreading radiance of the new 
day. She feared the candor of his steady eyes more 
than the wiles and hypocrisies of Bower and her 
false friend, Millicent. By a half miraculous in- 
sight into the history of recent events, she saw that 
Bower had followed her to Switzerland with evil 
intent. 

But the discovery embittered her the more against 
Spencer, who had lured her there deliberately, than 
324 


SPENCER EXPLAINS 

against Bower who knew of it, nor scrupled to use 
the knowledge as best it marched with his designs. 
It was nothing to her, she told herself, that Spencer 
no less than Bower had renounced his earlier pur- 
pose, and was ready to marry her. She still quiv- 
ered with anger at the thought that she had fallen 
so blindly into the toils. Even though she accepted 
Mackenzie’s astounding commission, she might have 
guessed that there was some ignoble element under- 
lying it. She felt now that it was possible to be 
prepared, — to scrutinize occurrences more closely, 
to hold herself aloof from compromising incidents. 
The excursion to the Forno, the manifest interest 
she displayed in both men, the concealment of her 
whereabouts from friends in London, her stiff lippeii 
indifference to the opinion of other residents in the 
hotel, — these things, trivial individually, united into 
a strong self indictment. 

As for Spencer, though she meant, above all things, 
to avoid meeting him, and hoped that he was now 
well on his way to the wide world beyond Maloja, 
she would never forgive him — no, never! 

“ I am sorry to hurry you, signora, but there is a 
bit of really bad snow on the Sella Pass,” urged 
Pietro apologetically at her shoulder, and she re- 
entered the hut at once, sitting down to that which 
she deemed to be her last meal on the Swiss side of 
the Upper Engadine. 

It was in a hotel at St. Moritz that she had settled 
her route with the aid of a map and a guidebook. 
3^5 


THE SILENT BARRIER 


TV' hen, on that day of great happenings, she quitted 
the Kursaal-Maloja, she stipulated that the utmost 
secrecy should be observed as to her departure. Her 
boxes and portmanteau were brought from her room 
by the little used exit she had discovered soon after 
her arrival. A closed carriage met her there in the 
dusk, and she drove straight to St. Moritz station. 
Leaving her baggage in the parcels office, she sought 
a quiet hotel for the night, registering her room un- 
der her mother’s maiden name of Trenholme. She 
meant to return to England by the earliest train in 
the morning; but her new-born terror of encounter- 
ing Spencer set in motion a scheme for evading pur- 
suit either by him or Bower. 

By going up the Roseg Valley, and carrying the 
barest necessaries for a few days’ travel, she could 
cross the Bernina range into Italy, reach the rail 
at Sondrio, and go round by Como to Lucerne and 
thence to Basle, whither the excellent Swiss system 
of delivering passengers’ luggage would convey her 
bulky packages long before she was ready to claim 
them. 

With a sense of equity that was creditable, she 
made up her mind to expend every farthing of the 
money received from “ The Firefly.” She had kept 
her contract faithfully: Mackenzie, therefore, or 
Spencer, must abide by it to the last letter. The 
third article of the series was already written and 
in the post. The fourth she wrote quietly in her 
room at the SL Moritz hotel, nor did she stir out 
326 


SPENCER EXPLAINS 


during the next day until it was dark, when she 
walked a few yards up the main street to buy a 
rucksack and an alpenstock. 

Early next morning, close wrapped and veiled, she 
took a carriage to the Restaurant du Glacier. Here 
she met an unforeseen check. The local guides were 
absent in the Bernina, and the hotel proprietor — 
good, careful man ! — would not hear of intrusting 
the pretty English girl to inexperienced villagers, 
but persuaded her to await the coming of a party 
from Italy, whose rooms were bespoke. Their guides, 
in all probability, would be returning over the Sella 
Pass, and would charge far less for the journey. 

He was right. On the afternoon of the following 
day, three tired Englishmen arrived at the res- 
taurant, and their hardy Italian pilots were onl}^ 
too glad to find a voyageur ready to start at once 
for the Mortel hut, whence a nine hours’ climb would 
take them back to the Val Malenco, provided they 
crossed the dangerous neve on the upper part of the 
glacier soon after daybreak. 

Pietro, the leader, was a cheery soul. Like oth- 
ers of his type in the Bernina region, he spoke a 
good deal of German, and his fund of pleasant anec- 
dote and reminiscence kept Helen from brooding on 
her own troubles during the long evening in the 
hut. 

And now, while she was finishing her meal in the 
dim light of dawn, and the second guide was pack- 
ing their few belongings, Pietro regaled her with a 
S27 


THE SILENT BARRIER 


legend of the Mopte del Diavolo, which overlooks 
Sondrio and the lovely valley of the Adda. 

“ Once upon a time, signora, they used to grow 
fine grapes there,” he said, “ and the wine was al- 
ways sent to Rome for the special use of the Pope 
and his cardinals. That made the people proud, 
and the devil took possession of them, which greatly 
grieved a pious hermit who dwelt in a cell in the lit- 
tle Val Malgina, by the side of a torrent that flows 
into the Adda. So one day he asked the good Lord 
to permit the devil to visit him; but when Satan 
appeared the saint laughed at him. ‘ You ! ’ he cried. 

‘ Who sent for you.^ You are not the Prince of the 
Infernal Regions ? ’ — ‘ Am I not .? ’ said the stranger, 
with a truly fiendish grin. ‘ Just try my powers, and 
see what will happen ! ’ — ‘ Very well,’ said the saint, 
‘ produce me twenty barrels of better wine than can 
be grown in Sondrio.’ So old Barbariccia stamped 
his hoof, and lo ! there were the twenty barrels, while 
the mere scent of them nearly made the saint break 
a vow that he would never again taste fermented 
wine. But he held fast, and said, ‘ Now, drink the 
lot.’^ — ‘ Oh, nonsense ! ’ roared the devil. ‘ Pooh ! ^ 
said the hermit, ‘ you’re not much of a devil if you 
can’t do in a moment what the College of Cardi- 
nals can do in a week.’ That annoyed Satan, and 
he put away barrel after barrel, until the saint be- 
gan to feel very uneasy. But the last barrel finished 
him, and down he went like a log, whereupon the 
holy man put him into one of his own tubs and sent 
S28 


SPENCER EXPLAINS 


him to Rome to be dealt with properly. There was 
a tremendous row, it is said, when the cask was 
opened. In the confusion, Satan escaped; but in 
revenge for the trick that had been played on him, 
he put a blight on the vines of the Adda, and from 
that day to this never a liter of decent wine came 
out of Sondrio.” 

“ I guess if that occurred anywhere in Italy nowa- 
days, they’d lynch the hermit,” said a voice in Eng- 
lish outside. 

Helen screamed, and the two Italians were star- 
tled. No one was expected at the hut at that hour. 
Its earliest visitors should come from the inner range, 
after a long tramp from Italy or Pontresina. 

‘‘ Sorry if I scared you,” said Spencer, his tall 
figure suddenly darkening the doorway ; “ but I 
didn’t like to interrupt the story.” 

Helen sprang to her feet. Her cheeks, blanched 
for a few seconds, became rosy red. “ You ! ” she 
cried. “How dare you follow me here.?” 

In the rapidly growing light she caught a transi- 
tory gleam in the American’s eyes, though his face 
was as impassive as usual. And the worst of it was 
that it suggested humor, not resentment. Even in 
the tumult of wounded pride that took her heart by 
storm, she realized that her fiery vehemence had gone 
perilously near to a literal translation of the saintly 
scoff at old Barbariccia. And, now if ever, she must 
be dignified. Anger yielded to disdain. In an in- 
stant she grew cold and self collected. 

S29 


THE SILENT BARRIER 


“ I regret that in my surprise I spoke unguard- 
edly,” she said. “ Of course, this hut is open to 
everyone ” 

“ Judging by the look of things between here and 
the hotel, we shall not be worried by a crowd,” broke 
in Spencer. “ I meant to arrive half an hour earlier ; 
but that slope on the Alp Ota offers surprising diffi- 
culties in the dark.” 

“ I wished to say, when you interrupted me, that 
I am leaving at once, so my presence can make lit- 
tle difference to you,” said Helen grandly. 

“ That sounds more reasonable than it really is,” 
was the quietly flippant reply. 

“ It conveys my intent. I have no desire to pro- 
long this conversation,” she cried rather more hur- 
riedly. 

‘‘ Now, there I agree with you. We have started 
on the wrong set of rails. It is my fault. I ought 
to have coughed, or fallen down the moraine, or 
done any old thing sooner than butt into the talk 
so unexpectedly. If you will allow me. I’ll begin 
again right now.” 

He turned to the Italians, who were watching and 
listening in curious silence, trying to pick up an 
odd word that would help to explain the relations 
between the two. 

“ Will you gentlemen take an interest in the scen- 
ery for five minutes.? ” he asked, with a smile. 

Though the valley of the Adda may have lost 
its wine, it will never lose its love of romance. The 


SPENCER EXPLAINS 


polite Italians raised their hats and went out. Helen, 
drawing a long breath, withdrew somewhat into the 
shadow. She felt that she would have more command 
over herself if the American could not see her 
face. The ruse did not avail her at all. Spencer 
crossed the floor of the hut until he looked into 
her eyes. 

“ Helen,” he said, “ why did you run away from 
me.?^ ” 

The tender reproach in his voice almost unnerved 
her ; but she answered simply, ‘‘ What else would 
you have me do, once I found out the circumstances 
under which I came to Switzerland.'’ ” 

“ It may be that you were not told the truth. Who 
was your informant .f’ ” 

‘‘ Mr. Bower.” 

“None other.^’” 

“ What, then.? Is my pitiful story the property 
of the hotel.? ” 

“ It is now. I took care of that. Some of the 
people there had been spreading a misleading ver- 
sion, and it was necessary to correct it. The women, 
of course, I could not deal with. As the General was 
an old man, I picked out George de Courcy Vavasour 
as best fitted to digest the wrong edition. I made 
him eat it. It seemed to disagree with him; but he 
got through with an effort.” 

Helen felt that she ought to decline further dis- 
cussion. But she was tongue tied. Spencer was 
regarding her so fixedly that she began to fear lest 
331 


THE SILENT BARRIER 


he might notice the embarrassed perplexity that she 
herself was quite conscious of. 

“ Will you be good enough to explain exactly 
what you mean ? ” she said, forcing the question me- 
chanically from her lips. 

“ That is why I am here. I assure you that sub- 
terfuge can never again exist between you and me,” 
said he earnestly. “ You can accept my words lit- 
erally. Acting for himself and others. Vavasour 
wrote on paper the lying insinuations made by Miss 
Jaques, and ate them — both words and paper. He 
happened to use the thin, glazed. Continental va- 
riety, so what it lost in bulk it gained in toughness. 
He didn’t like it, and said so ; but he had to do it.” 

She was nervously aware of a wish to laugh; but 
unless she gave way to hysteria that was not to be 
thought of. Trying to retreat still farther into the 
friendly shade, she backed round the inner end of 
the table, but found the way blocked by a rough 
bench. Something must be said or done to extricate 
herself. The dread that her voice might break was 
becoming an obsession. 

You speak of a false version, and that implies 
a true one,” she managed to say constrainedly. 
“ How far was Mr. Bower’s statement false or 
true? ” 

“ I settled that point too. Mr. Bower told you 
the facts. The deduction he forced on you was a 
lie. To my harmless notion of gratifying a girl’s 
longing for a holiday abroad he added the mob'’'« 
332 


SPENCER EXPLAINS 

that inspired his own journey. I overheard your 
conversation with Miss Jaques in the Embankment 
Hotel; I saw Bower introduced to you; I saw him 
looking for you in Victoria Station, and knew that 
he represented the meeting as accidental. I felt a 
certain responsibility on your account; so I fol- 
lowed by the next train. Bower played his cards 
so well that I found myself in a difficult position. 
I was busy guessing; but was unable to prove any- 
thing, while the one story I was sure of was not 
in the game. And then, you see, he wanted to make 
you his wife, which brought about the real compli- 
cation. I haven’t much use for him; but I must 
be fair, and Bower’s only break was when he mis- 
represented my action in subsidizing ‘ The Firefly.’ 
I don’t deny he was pretty mad at the idea of losing 
you, and jealousy will often drive a man to do a 
mean thing which might otherwise be repugnant to 
his better nature ” 

“ Jealousy ! ” shrilled Helen, her woman’s wit at 
last finding a joint in his armor. Yet never did 
woman err more than she in thinking that her Ameri- 
can suitor would flinch beneath the shaft. 

“ That is the word,” was the quiet reply. 

She flared into indignant scorn. “ Pray tell me 
■why he or any other man should feel jealous of you 
where I am concerned,” she said. 

“ I am going to tell you right away — Helen. But 
that is the last chapter. There is quite a long rec- 
ord as to the way I hit on your track in St. Moritz, 


THE SILENT BARRIER 


and heard of you by telephone last night. Of course, 
that part of the story will keep ” 

“ Is it necessary that I should hear any portion 
of it ? ” she interrupted, hoping to irritate him, and 
thus lessen the strain imposed by his studiously tran- 
quil manner. 

“ Well, it ought to interest you. But it has hu- 
morous points to which I can’t do justice under pres- 
ent conditions. You are right, Helen — you most 
always are. The real question at issue is my posi- 
tion in the deal, which becomes quite clear when I 
say that you are the only woman I have ever loved 
or ever shall love. More than that, you are the only 
woman to whom I have ever spoken a word of love, 
and as I have set about loving the dearest and pret- 
tiest and healthiest girl I have ever seen, it is safe 
to figure that you will have sole claim on all the nice 
things I can try to say to any woman during the 
remainder of my life.” 

He hesitated a moment. He did not appear to 
notice that Helen, after a rebellious gasp or two, 
had suddenly become very still. 

“ I suppose I ought to have fixed up a finer bit of 
word painting than that,” he continued slowly. “ As 
a matter of fact, I don’t mind admitting that ever 
since eleven o’clock last night, when the proprietor 
of the hotel below there telephoned to me that Miss 
Trenholme had gone to the Mortel hut with two 
guides, I have been rehearsing X plus Y multiplied 
by Z ways of telling you just how dear you are to 
334 


SPENCER EXPLAINS 


me. But they all vanished like smoke when I saw 
your sweet face. You tried to be severe with me, 
Helen ; but your voice didn’t ring true, and you 
are the poorest sort of prevaricator I know. And 
the reason those set forms wouldn’t work at the right 
moment is that they were addressed to the silent air. 
You are near me now, my sweet. You are almost in 
my arms. You are in my arms, Helen, and it sdunds 
just right to keep on telling you that I love you 
now and shall love you for ever. Oh, my dear, my 
dear, you must never, never, run away again ! Search 
the dictionary for all the unkindest things you can 
say about me; but don’t run away . . . for I 
know now that when you are absent the day is night 
and the night is akin to death.” 

Guide Pietro was somewhat a philosopher. Stamp- 
ing about on the tiny stone plateau of the hut to 
keep at bay the cold mists from the glacier, he hap- 
pened to glance through the open door. He drew 
away instantly. 

“ Bartelommeo,” he said to his companion, “ we 
shall not cross the Sella to-day with our charming 
voyageur.” 

Bartelommeo was surprised. He looked at the 
clean §ut crest of the rock, glowing now in vivid 
sunlight. Argument was not required; he pointed 
silently with the stem of his pipe. 

“ Yes,” murmured Pietro. “We couldn’t have 
a better day for the pass. It is not the weather.” 
S35 


THE SILENT BARRIER 


“ Then what is it ? ” asked Bartelommeo, moved 
to speech. 

“ She is going the other way. Didn’t you catch 
the tears in her voice yesterday? She smiled at my 
stories, and carried herself bravely ; but her eyes were 
heavy, and the comers of her mouth drooped when 
she was left to her thoughts. And again, my friend, 
did you not see her face when the young signor 
arrived? ” 

“ She was frightened.” 

Pietro laughed softly. ‘‘ A woman always fears 
her lover,” he said. ‘‘ That is just the reason why 
you married Cater ina. You liked her for her shy- 
ness. It made you feel yourself a man — a devil of 
a fellow. Don’t you remember how timid she was, 
how she tried to avoid you, how she would dodge into 
anybody’s chalet rather than meet you ? ” 

“ But how do you know? ” demanded Bartelom- 
meo, waking into resentful appreciation of Pietro’s 
close acquaintance with his wooing. 

“ Because I married Lola two years earlier. 
Women are all the same, no matter what country 
they hail from — nervous as young chamois before 
marriage — ^but after! Body of Bacchus! Was it 
on Wednesday that Caterina hauled you out of the 
albergo to chop firewood? ” 

Bartelommeo grunted, and put his pipe in his 
mouth again. 


336 



CHAPTER XVII 

THE SETTLEMENT 

Though Helen was the better linguist, it was left 
to Spencer to explain that circumstances would pre- 
vent the lady from going to Malenco that day. He 
did not fully understand why the men should ex- 
change glances of darksome intelligence when he 
made this statement. He fancied they were disap- 
pointed at losing a good customer; so he went on 
brokenly : 

‘‘You are in no hurry, eh.? Well, then, take us 
across the glacier to the Aguagliouls. We should 
obtain a fine view from the summit, and get back 
to the hotel for luncheon. I will pay the same rates 
as for the Sella.” 

Both guides were manifestly pleased. Pietro be- 
gan a voluble recital of the glories that would meet 
their enraptured gaze from the top of the mighty 
rock. 


S37 


THE SILENT BARRIER 


“ You will see the Bernina splendidly,” he cried, 
“ and Roseg too, and the Gliischaint and II Cha- 
piitschin. If the lady will trust to us, we can bring 
her down the Tschierva glacier safely. You are a 
climber, signor, else you could never have crossed the 
Ota before dawn. But let us make another cup of 
coffee. The middle Roseg ice is safe at any hour, 
and if we are on the rock by nine o’clock that will 
be perfect for the sun.” 

Already a grand panorama of glaciers and peaks 
was unfolding itself. A cloudless sky promised a 
lovely August day, and what that means in the high 
Alps the mountaineer alone can tell. But Spencer 
turned his back on the outer glory. He had eyes 
only for Helen, while she, looking mistily at the 
giant rock across the valley, saw it not at all, for 
she was peering into her own soul, and found the 
prospect dazzling in its pure delight. 

So they sat down to a fresh brew of coffee, and 
Spencer horrified Helen by a confession that he had 
eaten nothing since the previous evening. Her ten- 
der solicitude for his needs, her hasty unpacking of 
rolls and sandwiches, her anxiety that he should 
endeavor to consume the whole of the provisions 
intended for the day’s march, were all sufficing 
guerdon for the sufferings of those miserable days 
since the hour when Mrs. de la Vere told him that 
Helen had gone. It was a new experience for Spen- 
cer to have a gracious and smiling woman so greatly 
concerned for his welfare ; but it was decidedly agree- 
338 


THE SETTLEMENT 


able. These little attentions admitted so much that 
she dared not tell — as yet. And he had such a 
budget of news for her! Though he foujid it diffi- 
cult to eat and talk at the same time, he boldly made 
the attempt. 

“ Stampa was the genius who really unraveled the 
mystery,” he said. “ Certainly, I managed to dis- 
cover, in the first instance, that you had deposited 
your baggage in your own name. Had all else 
failed, I should have converted myself into a label 
and stuck to your boxes till you claimed them at 
Basle; but once we ascertained that you had not 
quitted St. Moritz by train, Stampa did the rest. 
He knows St. Moritz like a book, and it occurred 
to him that you had changed your name ” 

“Why, I wonder.'^” she broke in. 

“ That is rather hard to say.” He wrestled val- 
iantly with the leg of a tough chicken, and thus 
was able to evade the question. 

Poor Stampa I clinging tenaciously to the belief 
that Helen bore some resemblance to his lost daugh- 
ter, remembered that when Etta made her sorrow- 
ful journey from Zermatt she gave another name at 
the little hostelry in Maloja where she ended her life. 

“ Anyhow,” went on Spencer, having dexterously 
severed the joint, “ he tracked you from St. Moritz 
to the Roseg. He even hit on the shop in which you 
bought your rucksack and alpenstock. Then he put 
me on to the telephone, and the remainder of the 
chase was up to me.” 


339 


THE SILENT BARRIER 


“ I am sorry now that the dear old man did not 
come with you,” cried Helen. “ I look on him as 
the first of my friends in Switzerland, and shall be 
more than pleased to see him again.” 

“I pressed him to come along; but he refused. 

I don’t wish to pain you, dearest, but I guess he 
wants to keep track of Bower.” 

Helen, who had no inkling of the tragedy that 
linked those two, blushed to her ears at the recollec- 
tion of her parting from the millionaire. 

“ Do you — do you know that Mr. Bower proposed 
to me ? ” she stammered. 

“ He told me that, and a lot more.” 

“ Did you quarrel.^ ” 

“ We — said things. But I couldn’t treat Bower 
as I handled Georgie. I was forced to admit his 
good taste, you see.” 

“ Well, dear, promise me ” 

‘‘ That I sha’n’t slay him ! Why, Helen, if he is 
half the man I take him for, he will come to our 
wedding. I told Mrs. de la Vere I should bring you 
back, and she agreed that there was nothing else to 
be done.” 

The color ebbed and flowed on Helen’s face at an 
alarming rate. “ What in the world are you talk- , 
ing about ? ” she asked, with a calm severity that her 
fluttering heart denied. 

Spencer laughed so happily that Pietro, who un- 
derstood no word of what his voyageurs were saying, 
gave Bartelommeo a sapient wink. 

340 


THE SETTLEMENT 


‘‘ Well, now,” he cried, “ wouldn’t we be the queer- 
est pair of zanies to go all that long wa}” to London 
to get married when a parson, and a church, and all 
the needful consular offices are right here under our 
noses, so to speak. Why, we have a ready-made 
honeymoon staring us in the face. We’ll just skate 
round Switzerland after your baggage and then drop 
down the map into Italy. I figured it all out last 
night, together with ’steen methods of making the 
preliminary declaration. I’ll tell you the whole 
scheme while we — Oh, well, if you’re in a real hurry 
to cross the glacier, I must defer details and talk in 
headlines.” 

For Helen, absolutely scarlet now, had risen with 
a tragic air and bade the guides prepare for instant 
departure. 

The snow lay deep on the Roseg, and roping was 
essential, though Pietro undertook to avoid any diffi- 
cult crevasses. He led, Spencer followed, with 
Helen next, and Bartelommeo last. They reached 
the opposite moraine in half an hour, and began to 
climb steadily. The rock which looked so forbid- 
ding from the hut was by no means steep and not 
at all dangerous. They had plenty of time, and 
often stopped to admire the magnificent vistas of 
the Val Roseg and the Bernina range that were 
gradually unfolding before their eyes. Soon they 
were on a level with the hut, the Alpine palace that 
had permitted their first embrace. 

“ When we make our next trip to St. Moritz, 

341 


THE SILENT BARRIER 


Helen, we must seek out the finest and biggest photo- 
graph of the Mortel that money can buy,” said 
Spencer. 

Helen was standing a little above him on a broad 
ledge. Her hand was resting on his shoulder. 

“ Oh, look ! ” she cried suddenly, pointing with her 
alpenstock to the massive mountain wall that rose 
above the cabane. A few stones had fallen above 
a widespread snow slope. The stones started an 
avalanche, and the roar of the tremendous cascade 
of snow and rock was distinctly audible. 

Pietro uttered an exclamation, and hastily unslung 
a telescope. He said something in a low tone to 
Bartelommeo; but Spencer and Helen grasped its 
meaning. 

The girl’s eyes dilated with terror. “ There has 
been an accident 1 ” she whispered. Bartelommeo 
took the telescope in his turn and evidently agreed 
with the leading guide. 

“ A party has fallen on Corvatsch,” said Pietro 
gravely. “ Two men are clinging to a ledge. It 
is not a bad place; but they cannot move. They 
must be injured, and there may be others — below,” 

“ Let us go to their assistance,” said Spencer 
instantly. 

“ Per certOy signor. That is the law of the hills. 
But the signora? What of her? ” 

“ She will remain at the hut.” 

“ I will do anything you wish,” said Helen sor- 
rowfully, for her gladness had been changed to 
342 


THE SETTLEMENT 

mourning by the fearsome tidings that two, if not 
more, human beings were in imminent danger on the 
slopes of the very hill that had witnessed the avowal 
of her love. They raced back over the glacier, 
doubling on their own track, and were thus enabled 
to travel without precaution. 

Leaving Helen at the hut, the men lost no time 
in beginning the ascent. They were gone so long 
that she was almost frantic with dread in their be- 
half ; but at last they came, slowly, with the tread 
of care, for they were carrying the body of a 
man. 

While they were yet a couple of hundred feet 
above the hut, Spencer intrusted the burden to the 
Italians alone. He advanced with rapid strides, and 
Helen knew that he brought bad news. 

‘‘ Come, dear one,” he said gently. “ We must go 
to the inn and send help. Our guides are bringing 
an injured man to the hut, and there is one other 
whom we left on the mountain.” 

“ Dead.?” 

‘‘ Yes, killed instantly by a stone. That was all. 
Just a mishap — one of the things that can never be 
avoided in climbing. But come, dear. More men 
are needed, and a doctor. This poor fellow is badly 
hurt.” 

Can I do nothing for him.?” she pleaded. 

A species of fright twitched his grave face for 
an instant. ‘‘ No, no, that is not to be thought of,” 
he urged. “ Pietro says he has some little skill in 
843 


THE SILENT BARRIER 


these matters. He can do all that is needed until 
a doctor arrives. Believe me, Helen, it is imperative 
that we should reach the hotel without delay.” 

She went with him at once. “Who is it.^ ” she 
asked. He steeled himself to answer according to 
his intent. Though he had vowed that never again 
would he utter a syllable to his love that was not 
transparently true, how could he tell her then that 
Stampa was stretched lifeless on the broad bosom 
of Corvatsch, and that the Italians were carry- 
ing Bower, crushed and raving in delirium, to the 
hut. 

“ An Englishman and his guide, I am sorry to 
say,” was his prepared reply. “ The guide is dead ; 
but his employer can be saved, I am sure, if only 
we rush things a bit. Now, Helen, let us go at top 
speed. No talking, dear. We must make the hotel 
under the hour.” 

They did it, and help was soon forthcoming. Then , 
Spencer ordered a carriage, and insisted that Helen 
should drive to Maloja forthwith. He would stay j 

at Roseg, he said, to make certain that everything * 

possible was done for the unfortunate climber. In- j 

deed, when his beloved was lost to sight down the ! 

winding road that leads to the main valley of the J 

Engadine, he accompanied the men who went to the j 

Mortel. Halfway they met Pietro and Bartelommeo j 

carrying Bower on an improvised stretcher, ice axes \ 

and a blanket. I 

By this time, under the stimulus of wine and j 

344- i 


THE SETTLEMENT 


warmth, Bower had regained his senses. He recog- 
nized Spencer, and tried to speak; but the American 
told him that even the' least excitement must be 
avoided. 

Once the hotel was reached, and they were wait- 
ing for the doctor. Bower could no', be restrained. 

“It was you who rescued me?” he said feebly. 

“ I, and two Italian guides. We saw the accident 
from the other side of the Roseg glacier.” 

“ Yes. Stampa pointed you out to me. I could 
not believe my eyes. I watched you till the thought ' 
came that Stampa had befooled me. Then he pushed 
me off the rock where we were standing. I broke my 
leg in the fall; but he held me there on the rope 
and taunted me. Great God ! how I suffered ! ” 

“ You really ought not to talk about it,” said 
Spencer soothingly. 

“ Why not ? He brought me there to kill me, he 
said. The cunning old fox told me that I would 
find Helen in the Mortel hut, and offered to take me 
to her by a short cut over Corvatsch. And I believed 
him ! I was mad, I suppose. We did the Marmore 
ascent by the light of the stars. Do you realize what 
that means? It is a hard climb for experts in broad 
daylight. But I meant to beat you, Spencer. 
Stampa vowed you were in St. Moritz. And again 
I believed him! Think of it — I was hoodwinked by 
an old peasant.” 

“ Hush ! Try and forget things till your broken 
limb is fixed.” 


THE SILENT BARRIER 


“ What does it matter? Confound it ! you’ve won ; 
so let me tell my story. I must have lost my senses 
when I saw you and Helen leaving the glacier with 
two strange guides. I forgot all else in my rage. 
I stood there, frozen, bewitched. Stampa was watch- 
ing me all the time, and the instant I turned to re- 
vile him he threw me off my balance with a thrust 
of his ax. ‘ Now you are going to die, Marcus 
Bauer! ’ he said, grinning at me with a lunatic’s joy. 
He even gloated over the unexpected injury I re- 
ceived in falling. My groans and cries were so 
pleasing to him that he did not cut the rope at once 
as he meant to do, but kept me dangling there, lis- 
tening to his reproaches. Then the stones fell, and 
pinned him to the ledge ; but not one touched me, and 
I hauled myself up, broken leg and all, till I crawled 
on to the big rock that rested on his body. You 
found me there, eh? ” 

Yes.” 

‘‘ Well, I wish you luck. I meant to snatch Helen 
from you, even at the twelfth hour ; but Stampa over- 
reached me. That mock marriage of his contriving 
had more power than I counted on. Curse it! how 
these crushed bones are beginning to ache ! Give me 
some brandy. I want to drink Helen’s health, and 
my own, and yours, damn you! See that you treat 
her well and make her life happy! She is worthy 
of all your love, and I suppose she loves you, whereas 
I might have striven for years to win her affection 
and then failed in the end.” 

3i6 


THE SETTLEMENT 


Late that night Spencer arrived at the Male j a. 
Helen was waiting for him, as he had telephoned 
the hour he might be expected. Rumor had brought 
the news of Stampa’s death and Bower’s accident. 
Then she understood why her lover had sent her 
away so quickly. She was troubled all day, blaming 
herself as the unconscious cause of so much misery. 
Spencer saw that the full truth alone would dispel 
her self reproach. So he told her everything, even 
showing her Millicent’s letter and a telegram received 
from Mackenzie, in which the editor of “ The Fire- 
fly ” put it quite plainly that the proprietor of the 
magazine had forbidden him (Mackenzie) from tak- 
ing any steps whatever with regard to Helen’s return 
to England without definite instructions. 

The more she learned of the amazing web of in- 
trigue and misunderstanding that surrounded her 
movements since she left the Embankment Hotel after 
that memorable luncheon with Millicent, the less in- 
clined she was to deny Spencer’s theory that Fate 
had brought them together. 

“ I cleared out of Colorado as though a tarantula 
had bitten me,” he said. “ I traveled five thousand 
miles to London, saw you, fooled myself into the 
belief that I was intended by Providence to play the 
part of a heavy uncle, and kept up that notion dur- 
ing another thousand-mile trip to this delightful 
country. Then you began to reach out for me, 
Helen ” 

“ I did nothing of the kind! ” she protested. 

347 


THE SILENT BARRIER 


“ Oh, yes, you did, — ^just grab])ed me good and 
hard, — and when Bower showed up I stacked my 
chips on the table and sat down to the game. What 
am I talking about I don’t know. Kiss me good 
night, sweetheart, and don’t you give a red cent 
who’s looking. For once in a way, I don’t mind 
admitting that I’m tired — all in. I could sleep on 
a row of porcupines.” 

Stampa was buried in the grave that held his 
daughter’s remains. Spencer purchased the space 
for a suitable monument, and the inscription does 
not fail to record the fact that one of the men 
who first conquered the Matterhorn had paid trib- 
ute to the mountains by meeting his death on 
Corvatsch. 

The American went many times to visit Bower at 
the Roseg inn. He found his erstwhile rival re- 
signed to the vagaries of fortune. The doctors 
summoned from St. Moritz deemed his case so seri- 
ous that they brought a specialist from Paris, and 
the great surcgon announced that the millionaire’s 
leg would be saved; but there must remain a per- 
manent stiffness. 

“ I know what that means,” said Bower, with a 
wry smile. “ It is a legacy from Stampa. That 
is really rather funny, considering that the joke is 
against myself. By the way, did I tell you I gave 
Millicent Jaques a check for five thousand pounds 
to stop her tongue?” 


348 


THE SETTLEMENT 


“ I guessed the check, but couldn’t guess the 
amount.” 

“ She wrote last week, threatening all sorts of 
terrible things because I withheld payment. You 
will remember that when you and I placed on record 
our mutual opinion of each other, we agreed at any 
rate that it was a mean thing on her part to give 
away our poor Helen to the harpies in the hotel. So 
I telegraphed at once to my bankers, and Miss Milli- 
cent didn’t make good, as you would put it. Now 
she promises to ‘ expose ’ me. Humorous, isn’t it.^ ” 

“ I think you ought to marry her,” said Spencer, 
with that immobile look of his. 

“ Perhaps I may, one of these days. But first she 
must learn to behave herself. A nice girl, Millicent. 
She would look decorative, sitting beside an invalid 
in a carriage. Yes, I’ll think of it. Meanwhile, I 
shall chaff her about the five thousand and see how 
she takes it.” 

Millicent behaved. Helen saw that she did. 

On a day in September, after a wedding that was 
attended by as many people as could be crowded into 
the little English church at Maloja, Mr. and Mrs. 
Charles K. Spencer drove over the pass and down 
the Vale of Bregaglia en route to Como, Milan, and 
Venice. At the wedding breakfast, when Mrs. de la 
Vere officiated as hostess, the Rev. Philip Hare 
amused the guests by stating that he had taken pains 
to discover what the initial “ K ” represented in his 
American friend’s name. 


349 


THE SELENT BARRIER 


“ His second name is Knox,” said the vicar, “ and 
I understand that he is a direct descendant of a fa- 
mous Scottish divine known to history as a very 
stubborn person. Well, it has been said by a gentle- 
man present that Mr. Spencer has a backbone of cast 
steel, so the ‘ K ’ is fully accounted for, while the 
singular affinity of steel of any variety for a magnet 
gives a ready explanation of the admirable union 
which has resulted from the chance that brought the 
bride and bridegroom under the same roof.” 

Everybody said that Hare was much happier on 
such occasions than in the pulpit, and even the 
Wragg girls were heard to admit that Helen looked 
positively charming. 

So it is clear that many hatchets were blunted 
in Maloja, which is as it should ever be in such a 
fairyland, and that Helen, looking back at the 
mighty chain of the Alps from the deck of a steamer 
on Lake Como, had no reason to regret the day 
when first she crossed that solemn barrier. 


THE END 


350 


ZANE GREY’S NOVELS 

_ May beTh^ wherever books are sold. AsK for Grosset & Dunlap’s list 


THE LIGHT OF WESTERN STARS 

fJ'e. ® ranch which becomes the center of frontier war. 

supenntendent rescues her when she is captured by bandits. A 
surpnsing^ climax bringrs the story to a dehg'htful close 

THE RAINBOW TRAIL 

. T^*, elergryman who becomes a wanderw in the «reat 

uplands-untd at last love and faith awake. m ms great 

DESERT GOLD 

recent uprising: along the border, and ends with the finding 
of the gold which two prospectors had willed to the girl who is the story’s heroine. 

RIDERS OF THE PURPLE SAGE 

romance of Utah of some forty years ago when Mormon authoiitf 
ruled. The prosecution of Jane Withersteen is the themeiof the story. ^ 

THE LAST OF THE PLAINSMEN 

ThU is the record of a trip which the author took with Buffalo Jones, known as the 
preserver of the American bison, across the Arizona desert and of a hunt in "tluU 
wonderful country of deep canons and giant pines.” 

THE HERITAGE OF THE DESERT 

A lovely girl, who has been reared among Mormons, learns to love a young New 
llrnglander. The Mormon religion, however, demands that the girl shall become 
the second wife of one of the Mormons— Well, that’s the problem of this great story. 

THE SHORT STOP 

The young hero, tiring of his factory grind, starts out to win fame and fortune as 
ft professional ball player. His hard knocks at the start are followed by such sucoess 
as clean sportsmanship, courage and honesty ought to win. 

BETTY ZANE 


This story tells of the bravery and heroism of Betty, the beautlfal yuvng afstar of 
old Colonel Zane, one of the bravest pioneers. 

THE LONE STAR RANGER 

After killing a man in self defense, Buck Duane becomes an outlaw along the 
Texas border.^ In a camp on the Mexican side of the river, he finds a yoimg girl held 
prisoner, and in attempting to rescue her, brings down upon hims elf the wrath of her 
captors and henceforth is hunted on one side by honest men, on the other by outlaws, 

THE BORDER LEGION 


Joan Randle, in a spirit of anger, sent Jim Cleve out to a lawless Western mining 
camp, to prove his mettle. Then realizing that she loved him— she followed him out. 
On her way, she is captured by a bandit band, and trouble begins when she shoots 
Kells, the leader — and nurses him to health again. Here enters another romance — 
when Joan, disguised as an outlaw, observes Jim, in the throes of dissipation. A gold 
strike, a thrilling robbery — gambling and gun play carry you along breathlessly. 

THE LAST OF THE GREAT SCOUTS, " 

By Helen Cody Wetmore and Zane Grey 

The life story of Colonel William F. Cody, ” Buffalo Bilh” as told by his sister and 
Zane Grey. It begins with his bovhood in Iowa and his first encounter with an In- 
dian. We see " Bill ” as a pony express rider, then near Fort Sumter as Chief of 
the Scouts, and later engaged in the most dangerous Indian campaigns. There is 
also a very interesting account of the travels of “The Wild West” Show. No char- 
acter In public life makes a stronger appeal to the imagination of America than 
** Buffalo Bill,” whose daring and bravery made hi:n famous. 


Grosset & Dunlap, Publishers, New York 


NOVELS OF FRONTIER LIFE BY 

WILLIAM MacLEOD RAINE 

HANDSOMELY BOUND IN CLOTH. ILLUSTRATED. 


May be had wherever books are sold. Ask for Grosset and Dunlap’s list 


MAVERICKS. 

A tale of the western frontier, where the “rustler,” whose dep. 
redations are so keenly resented by the early settlers of the rangOj 
abounds. One of the sweetest love stories ever told. 

A TEXAS RANGER. 

How a member of the most dauntless border police force carried 
law into the mesquit, saved the life of an innocent man after a series 
of thrilling adventures, followed a fugitive to Wyoming, and then 
passed through deadly peril to ultimate happiness. , 

WYOMING. 

In this vivid story of the outdoor West the author has captured 
the breezy charm of “cattleland,” and brings out the turbid life of 
the frontier with all its engaging dash and vigor. 

RIDGWAY OF MONTANA. 

The scene is laid in the mining centers of Montana, where poli- 
tics and mining industries are the religion of the country. The 
poll 'ical contest, the love scene, and the &e character drawing give 
this story great strength and charm. * 

BUCKY O’CONNOR. 

Every chapter teems with 'wholesome, stirring adventures, re- 
plete with the dashing spirit of the border, told with dramatic dash 
and absorbing fascination of style and plot. 

C ROOKED TRAILS AND STRAIGHT. 

A story of Arizona; of swift-riding men and daring outlaws; of 
u bitter feud between cattle-men and sheep-herders. The heroine 
as a most unusual woman and her love sto^ reaches a culminatioQ 
that is fittingly characteristic of the great free West. 

BRAND BLOTTERS. 

A story of the Cattle Range. This story brings out the turbid 
life of the frontier, with all its engaging dash and vigor, with a charm- 
ing love interest running through its 320 pages. 


Grosset & Dunlap, Publishers, New York 









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